PWKM Oneshot PE Fills
by Shinigami Yumi
Summary: A collection of the oneshot Phoenix/Edgeworth fills I wrote for the Phoenix Wright Kink Meme with the respective prompts on top. Each chapter is a standalone story.
1. The Marks We Left Behind

**Prompt:** au where everyone is born with a very unique tattoo on their ankle, nobody else in the world has that tattoo. every time you fall in love with someone, their tattoo appears somewhere else on your body. (not necessarily soulmates, just who you fall in love with.)

* * *

 **The Marks We Left Behind**

He hates it.

He hates it so much — he tries everything to erase it.

It's funny — how a few days can upset everything he'd ever known about his life, how a single event can twist a badge of honour into a brand of shame.

He used to wear the circle of flame on his wrist with pride. Now…

Now it won't go away.

He scrubs, and he scratches, and it won't go away.

He slashes, and he burns, and it still won't go away.

But maybe it'll scar over this time. Maybe, after they remove the bandages that mercifully hide it from him —from the world— this time, it'll just be a mass of cut and burn marks — indecipherable.

It's not fair, he decides, that these marks don't go away even when the feelings that made them have faded or soured. It's not fair that there's no way to tell they've changed. It's not fair that you can't even tell if they're still alive.

That's a childish sentiment though. At least the pain is fitting.

"M— Edgeworth!"

Phoenix Wright bursts into the ward, at once the last and only person he wants to see.

"Wright," he sighs as the attorney drops gracelessly into the bedside chair, letting his document bag fall to the floor beside him. Miles finds himself tracing the sword and eye mark on his left elbow again, forces himself to stop that nervous tic.

"You're awake! You're alive… I'm so glad." The man is still wearing his usual blue suit — he must have rushed over directly from court or the office. "Edgeworth…"

Miles looks up — in place of the earlier relief, Wright looks dead serious.

"Please," his expression melts into pleading concern, "talk to me. Look, I know—"

"Wright, it was an accident," Miles groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I'm not— I wasn't trying to—"

"Oh. Oh!"

Now that that's out of the way, it's awkward, and Wright is scratching the back of his neck nervously, neither knowing what to say. As usual, Wright breaks the silence first.

"I uh…" He rummages in his document bag for a bit, then straightens when he finds it. "I saw this in a shop the other day." He holds out a silver bangle. "It's probably not your usual style, but it… reminded me of you, somehow, and I wanted to give you a congratulatory gift. I mean, you paid for our celebratory dinner too, so…"

Miles takes the bangle before Wright can ramble on. It's a thin, close-fitting piece with a spring hinge, simply decorated with delicate filigree —a classier piece than he'd expect of Wright's taste— and of a width he suspects was precisely calculated. The other has seen von Karma's mark before, after all, and the bandages are a dead giveaway now.

"Thank you."

Even after all these years apart, trust Wright to know these things — to wait with the keychain, to have faith in his innocence, to help cover up the mark he wants so desperately to remove.

"It's um… surprisingly nice."

"S—surprisingly? Gee, thanks, Edgeworth." Wright pulls his tie off and drops it into his bag before crossing his arms. "If I squint, I'm sure I'll see it for the compliment that it is."

"Ngk… I mean—"

The attorney sighs, expression softening. "You know, I— I used to wish that these weren't permanent too." He scratches at the top of his left arm, near the shoulder. "But now, even the ones that used to hurt are important to me, reminders of the lessons they taught me, whether they were kind or painful." Faintly, through the white dress shirt, Miles can see the many colourful sigils on the other's fair skin — Wright has always been trusting and open-hearted. "And whenever I was feeling down, I always had something to look at, mementos of the people who matter."

Wright's hand has moved to rest over his heart now, eyes closed and expression tender, and Miles remembers the magenta mark there clearly — fifteen years ago, at a sleepover, a nine-year-old Phoenix Wright had been so excited to show it to him, those two swords crossed inside a horseshoe, his own. Proof, the boy declared, of their everlasting friendship. Miles had been embarrassed even then to show Phoenix the corresponding blue birdlike insignia on his inner thigh — of all places for it to appear!

Suddenly, a warm hand covers his own where it rests on his thigh, where it feels like the mark is burning up under his fingertips, and his eyes snap to blue ones. The attorney opens his mouth, closes it, then looks away, settling for squeezing Miles' hand briefly with a wistful smile.

"When will you be back to work?" he asks at length, letting go and leaning back, and Miles can't decide whether he's more relieved or disappointed to be rid of the earlier tension.

"Soon, I hope," he replies. "It's not even my dominant hand."

The other chuckles. "Would it kill you to take a break sometimes?"

"Unlike you, I actually have work to do."

"Ouch," Wright deadpans. "Don't mind if the only ones lining up at my doorstep right now are the truly guilty, yeah?"

Miles winces, struck with a sudden sense of remorse. He shouldn't be unkind to the friend who'd saved his life barely a week ago. "I apologize, Wright. I d—" No, that wouldn't be true. "I admire your integrity," is what he goes for.

"Uh… Thanks…?" The other is scratching the back of his neck again, and Miles knows the mark there — resembling a paintbrush, from his mother.

 _It's funny,_ he thinks. _We're not children anymore, but we still seek comfort from our parents._ Like the grey one from his father on his elbow.

"Say, Edgeworth, when you get out of here…" Blue eyes look earnestly at him now. "Would you like to go for dinner? Um, I mean… I know you didn't really enjoy that boisterous party we had, so… I was hoping…" A red tint blazes over the other's cheeks as he averts his gaze, looking anywhere but at Miles. "I was hoping," he soldiers on, fiddling with a button on his suit jacket, "that we could have a proper, quieter celebration, just you and me."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

Not the button, but the sigil below it. Not a celebration, but maybe…

"Indeed! Verily, I say... Ergo!" He can feel the heat rising in his cheeks as the last few minutes replay in his mind — the evidence seems so clear. "Right."

"…as in my name or…"

The glare is reflex, and it cuts Phoenix off.

Phoenix… a name, like a feeling, from fifteen years before.

"M—maybe I should just go." Phoenix stands hurriedly, grabbing his bag. "You need the rest, after all."

"I'll call you," Miles says quickly, before Phoenix can go.

The other stops, turning. "R—really?"

The hope in blue eyes is blinding, and Miles deliberately traces the mark on his inner thigh through the hospital sheets, takes the plunge.

"Yes, it's a date."

And he feels himself mirror that radiant smile.

* * *

 **On the tattoos:** Most were inspired by the references in the characters' names. Phoenix is obvious. Miles and Gregory have swords from their Japanese names; Gregory has an eye for "watchful" while Miles' horseshoe-like shape was supposed to be a milestone or a reference to knights in chess. The hidden one on Phoenix's upper arm that he scratches is from Dahlia. Popular fanon suggests Phoenix's mother is an artist, hence the paintbrush. Karma goes around in a circle, and Manfred's Japanese name references a hunting demon and the fires of Hell. I like to think that the other ones Miles saw through Phoenix's shirt are from the Feys and that Miles has a whip encircling a flame from Franziska on his shoulder.

Thank you for reading. Let me know if you spot any errors I missed. I'd love to hear whether you enjoyed it!


	2. Something Stupid

**Prompt:** Shortly after the events of JFA, Phoenix has Larry and Miles over for drinking/guy time at his apartment. During the course of the evening, Larry brings up the subject of porn/sex and after he and Phoenix go back and forth about their favorite stars, movies, fantasies, bedroom exploits, etc., Phoenix realizes that Miles looks uncomfortable. Afterwards, in private, Miles admits to Phoenix that he's a virgin, and he's never a) seen a porno b) ever found release unless it was his body acting on its own (i.e. Wet dreams) due to Von Karma's strict teachings.

Phoenix decides to help his friend out in the area...by personally teaching Miles how to jerk off which leads to a session of making out/heavy petting and a night of multiple o's for virgin Miles.

Bonus points if they're both a little tipsy during this, and Phoenix comes out surprised that he's attracted to Miles "in that way", which leads to a new layer between them.

* * *

 **Something Stupid**

That last case was, hands down, the most stressful of my career to date. And that's saying something, considering my cases always seem so down to the wire. It's the stress, that's gotta be it. That's probably why I initially thought this was a good idea. After all, between the suicide note and all his help with that last case, this is probably a good time to reconnect with Edgeworth.

So I bought a carton of beer, we ordered some pizza, Edgeworth brought his own wine, and Larry was talking animatedly about his latest girlfriend, Heidi — standard guys' night in between old friends, right? Then, three beers in, Larry decides he's going to ask Heidi if she's up for a third person joining them because he wants to "do her like in A Hot Wife Blindfolded or watch her reenact Fetish Fanatic 17," and it all goes downhill.

"Dude, you know what I'm talking about, right? I know you've seen A Hot Wife." Larry throws a playful punch at my shoulder. "Dana was sooo hooot in that one."

Well, actually, I mostly watched that one for Xander, but more importantly, I don't want to be having this discussion in front of Miles Edgeworth. The last thing I need is to give Edgeworth more ammunition for our regular banter — not being in court doesn't take the bite out of it. But it's too late for denial, so I just gotta hope this ends quickly.

"Y—yeah. I think the blindfold made all the difference."

"Ooh, see? You get me, man." Larry takes another swig of his beer, sprawling more fully on the couch. "What wouldn't I give to see Annika make out with Heidi though!"

Nope. Not a chance.

"You know, I'm seein' a lot of potential in the newcomers this round." All dreamy-eyed now, Larry continues, "Barely Out of School was so good…"

(Ugh…) I cringe, slumping. (Remind me to keep you away from Pearls…)

"For your sake, Larry, I hope that isn't as illegal as it sounds," Edgeworth mutters drily, sipping his red wine.

"Wh—whaaat?!"

Wincing away, I catch Edgeworth doing the same further away on his armchair. (Good neighbors, I'm sorry!)

"Of course not! What do you take me for?!" Larry wails, stomping his foot indignantly. "How can you call yourself a friend, Edgey? How?!"

"Larry!" (I'm going to get evicted, aren't I? Homeless Phoenix, living out of the office…)

Fortunately, he at least knows how to take a hint and quiets down with a huff. "I'll have you know they're all legal." He crosses his arms. "Haven't you watched Glee?"

Edgeworth looks warily at us. "Surely you mean the musical television series and not— not—"

"Uh…" (Why would you think— No, actually, you would. You totally would.) "Pretty sure he's talking about older actors portraying younger characters here." (Though someone out there might have made a Glee porno. I wouldn't know.)

"I'm torn though… Annika or Remy?" Suddenly, Larry is back on topic with a full bottle. "C'mon, Nick, you've seen 'em both. Help a guy out here. What do you think?"

(Wait. I haven't seen Heidi though!) "Uh…" I glance at Edgeworth — he's draining his wine glass. I finish my beer. M—maybe we'll all get too drunk tonight to remember any of this. A man can hope! "I um… R—Remy. She looks sweet and is a great actress."

"Oh, yeah… Didn't she win a whole bunch of awards for your new favorite, the Temptation of Eve?"

To avoid burying my head in my hands, I grab another beer. (Oh god, kill me now.) "Mm." (If I don't die of embarrassment first! Now he even knows what I like to fap to…)

"Hey, have you seen that one, Edgey? It seems like your kind of thing."

(H—how do you figure?!)

"Or maybe you'd like Nick's old favourite, All American Girls?"

(That's it, Larry. I am never sharing porn recommendations with you again. Ever!)

"Nick's into the sweet-faced ones — what was her name, Kayla? Kylie?"

(Feeling… faint… Cold… sweat…) "Karla." (James sure gave her a run for my attention though.)

"Karla! That's it! I gotta say, I like her too. Well, Edgey?"

Edgeworth mumbles something into his wine glass.

"What's that?"

Very deliberately, Edgeworth sets his glass down and reaches for the wine bottle. "I said," he refills his glass intently, and if he focused on it any harder, it might superheat, "I'm gay. I don't watch straight pornography."

"Oh. Any actors you like?"

It isn't till he whips around to fix his patented glare on me that I realize that was me speaking. (Phoenix, brain, mouth, link!)

"Uh…" I scratch my head, sweating nervously. "I uh… I'm bi…? Oh, and I recently got into Van Darkholme after I saw his photo book on shibari…?"

Suddenly, it's awfully quiet. (W—why has everyone fallen silent?) Edgeworth has decided that the cabernet depths of his wine contain the answers to life's mysteries. Larry, on the other hand, is looking at me like Christmas has come early, and (I've got a bad feeling about this…)

"Whoa, Nick… Shibari, huh? Honestly, never would've expected that of you…"

(Sh— Did I really just—?!) "Hold it! It was a photo book!" (I—is my voice squeaking?!) "The shots were really artistic!"

"Uh-huh…"

Edgeworth is just refilling his glass again.

(Damn it, Phoenix, you're supposed to be fishing for bullets, not giving more away!) "A—anyway! Anything you recommend?"

"Yeah, man. What do you like, Edgey? Now that we know Nick here likes shibari…" Larry waggles his eyebrows, and I know I'll never live this down.

"I will tell you nothing of the sort, Larry Butz," Edgeworth says flatly, face red and gripping his elbow with the hand not holding the glass.

"Aww, c'mon, man. Don't be like that!"

(To tell you the truth, I wouldn't either… not on purpose anyway!)

"Here, I'll start." He pops the cap on a fresh beer. "You know, recently, I caught one of Heidi's fashion shows on TV, right? And she was wearing this fitting leather piece with lace-up stilettos, and now I can't get it out of my mind," he sighs dreamily. "I can't wait till she gets back, to have her put on some leather and… I don't know… spank me? Or whip me!"

Edgeworth nearly drops his wine glass.

"Yeah! Just the thought of some hot European girl —kinda like Annika, yeah?— in a fitting dress and leather cracking a whip… man, that's all kinds of sexy!"

"Oookay, Larry, I think we're calling it a night." I stand quickly, pulling him up with me. "Edgeworth," who looks like he wants nothing more than to curl up into a ball on the floor but will settle for washing the traumatising mental image of Franziska with Larry out of his mind with the rest of his wine, "and I have to work tomorrow, and I only have one couch."

"Whaaaat?!" Larry turns teary eyes on me. "Why's it gotta be me, man? You know I'd even take the floor, Nick."

"Well, for one, he drove and you didn't. And you're sober enough to walk or call a cab, but I doubt he can even stand straight right now," I point out, leading Larry to the door. "And if you're here, we won't be getting any sleep. So yeah, sorry, man." I try to look apologetic as I shrug. "Till next time?"

"Yeah!" He brightens, clinking his beer against mine before draining it and handing me the empty bottle. "You still gotta meet Heidi!"

He winks and takes off, and I sigh with relief as I lock the door behind him before moving around Edgeworth to gather all the empty bottles and set them aside. He's slumped in the armchair, pale face flushed with alcohol, and I don't think he's ever drunk an entire bottle of red wine quite so quickly.

I should move him to either the couch or my bed before he wakes up with cricks and aches everywhere on top of the hangover.

I tap his arm. "Hey, Edgeworth."

He stirs, looking up with bleary, glazed grey eyes. "Wright…?"

"The one and only. Come on." I slip my arms around his chest to pull him to his feet. "Let's get you to bed."

He doesn't resist. "Is it… good?"

"Hm?"

He sways, leaning heavily on me. "P—pornography…"

"Wh—what?" I turn to find his face barely an inch from mine.

More slowly, like he thinks I'm very dim, "Is pornography good?" he asks as I help him to the bedroom.

(Good…? Uh…) "S—some of it, I guess. There's good stuff and bad stuff, and— Wait." I seat him on the bed. It's a bit of a mess in here, and he'd make some biting comment if he were sober, I'm sure, but that's all beside the point right now. "You mean, you've never—?"

He shakes his head slowly as I help him lie down.

"Oh." (So that's why he's been so uncomfortable all night! It wasn't just telling Larry!)

"I've never— with anyone," he mumbles. "Not even myself."

"Not even y—?!" At the tip of my tongue is some snark about that being why he's so high-strung, but I bite it. This… looks like a vulnerable moment, and I shouldn't ruin it.

He cracks a wry smile. "I grew up… in the von Karma household." Gripping his elbow, he turns away. "The… accidents… were humiliating enough."

(Accidents? O—oh!) "Well, uh… D—do you want to try?"

Slowly, he turns his head to look at me again. "Try?"

"Yeah! There are some websites with some good shorts we could watch."

I'm scratching the back of my head again, so I quickly grab my laptop to stop. It's a bit of a tight squeeze for two on a single bed, but I do manage to get comfortable beside him and pull up a website I'm familiar with. I pick a short I've seen before that I thought was pretty good and set it to full screen before turning it to face him.

"Here, try this one." Nothing too adventurous, just two handsome men at it — it's his very first porno, after all.

Edgeworth glances at it, then at me and bites his lip. "Here? Now?"

"Would you do it on your own?" I ask pointedly. (Even with someone else, you wouldn't do it sober either, would you?)

He looks away. "Wh— It's not important."

"Well, no, but it feels good, and… and I think it's really important that you don't think it's some wrong or terrible thing!" I blurt hurriedly.

"I don't—"

I raise an eyebrow, and he stops. "Just relax. Look, if it's less awkward, we'll do it together."

Wide grey eyes fly to my face. "T—together?!" I'm not sure the flush is all alcohol anymore.

"Yeah, there's nothing to be embarrassed about. Just watch." I hit play and check to see if he's paying attention — good.

The episode starts up, and the stars meet. They flirt a bit, then they're in one person's apartment making out, and—

"That— That doesn't even make any sense!"

(Good ol' Edgeworth. Even this drunk, he insists on his logic.) "You don't watch this for the plot, Edgeworth."

"B— Look, it doesn't work that way in Paris."

"Oh, you've tried?"

He opens his mouth to reply, realizes at my grin that he's fallen into my trap and swiftly closes it again, keeping his eyes on the screen. Beside me, as the scene heats up, I hear Edgeworth's breathing quicken, and it's not like I've never suspected, but seeing this… I find myself staring at his quivering lips, those slender fingers curling in my blue sheets, the light sheen of sweat on his pale skin, the red blaze that creeps beneath the collar of his magenta dress shirt, and my mouth runs dry.

Edgeworth is… really attractive — sharp features, fit physique hugged by his bespoke clothes a—

(Wait. This is Edgeworth we're talking about here. Arrogant, condescending, tactless, righteous, determined, brilliant, loyal… No, no, no, I've known this guy since fourth grade!)

Yes, my hero in the class trial blushing as he quoted Signal Samurai lines and crying at his failure to fold a cr—

(Oh my God, I thought he was cute even back then, didn't I? …I'm screwed. Words cannot describe how screwed I am… Who are you kidding, Phoenix? You turned your entire life around for this guy, and it took you this long to notice?!)

Next to me, Edgeworth squirms, and (Focus, Phoenix, focus.) "Uh… Aren't you going to… you know…?" I incline my head meaningfully, and he'll turn purple if he blushed any harder. "Uh… D—do you want me to look away? Or leave or help you or—?"

Grey eyes are staring at me like I've grown a second head, and I take a second to realize what I just said and start sweating bullets. (Me and my big mouth…)

Suddenly, he smirks. "And how do you propose to _help me,_ Wright?" he— he _purrs_ as he shuts my laptop and sets it safely out of the way on the floor. "Hm?"

(I— I'll… think of something just as soon as I've picked my jaw up off the floor!)

But then that flirty confidence falters, and I've caught his hand before he can turn away. I— I can't lose him a third time. I can't. And… And we should probably talk, or… or… decide when we're less intoxicated, but… right now, all that matters is the nervous anticipation in his eyes and the pink of his tongue darting out to wet his parched lips as I lace our fingers and guide his hand down his already undone pants.

He gasps, eyes fluttering, as soon as our hands wrap around his erection, and my breath hitches — so hot, so _big,_ and I never knew I needed… All my fantasies, like puzzle pieces fitting together into a whole, and I've been an idiot all this time.

Stroking gently as I tug him out of his expensive boxer briefs, I whisper, "Try different things. Find what feels good," and let him guide my hand as I work on the buttons of his shirt.

He seems to find something he likes quickly —a bit of squeeze below the head and a rough flick of thumb over the tip with a light tug— and he's moaning, eyes closed, movements speeding up, and so, so _beautiful._

I can't help covering his lips with my own, slipping in when they part to taste the slide of his tongue along mine, and then—

He cries out, hot seed spilling over my hand, and (That's the hottest thing I've ever seen.)

Edg— _Miles_ smiles, soft —bashful even— when he catches his breath — did I say that out loud? But then he's reeling me back in for another kiss, his hand slipping under the waistband of my track pants, and suddenly, I can't get our clothes off fast enough. I'm naked atop him before I know it, thrusting into his hand as I break off to trail kisses down his neck, and he arches into me, letting out soft sounds of pleasure as I mouth at a spot near the top of his collarbone.

"Ngh… P—please… no marks…" He smells like fine cologne and clean musk — I don't know what I expected.

He doesn't know what I like, and his fingers are clumsy with the angle and inexperience, but he tries, and that's all I need — we can work on that later.

"I'll try… if you tell me something." I nip at the shell of his ear. "Those… accidents…" My hand finds him hard again, and he whimpers when I roll his sacs in my palm. "What did you dream about?"

Cracking a wry smile, he replies breathlessly, "You," and I groan, close. "Wright, you were… the only one I'd ever grown close enough to to think about in that way."

"Ah…!" I press my forehead to his, lock his gaze with mine as I repeat the motions he taught me earlier. "What did I do?"

Grey eyes blown but twinkling, he murmurs, "You touched me… like you're doing now. Haahh… kissed me, like you did earlier, and I always— Wr— ah! Ph—Phoenix… Phoenix!"

Orgasm punches out of me like the sight in my eyes, and I'm still all tingly when I blink away the white. We're a mess. Before Miles decides he's sober enough to be his fastidious self, I lean down to lick a bit of white off a pert nipple — a bit salty, a little bitter, mildly gamey… a hint of tea? He writhes as I swirl my tongue around it, and flicking the other lightly with my finger nets me a whimper. I don't know what I imagined Miles looked like under all those ruffles, but I'm definitely liking these well-defined muscles, the rosy expanse of creamy skin, the fine dusting of grey hair I follow down to—

"Ah!"

Miles shivers, oversensitive perhaps, but his body responds all the same as I press butterfly kisses to his length and rub circles up his toned inner thighs.

(Damn, I should take the stairs more often.)

I glance up to find him looking at me with half-lidded eyes filled with wonder — like he can't believe this is happening.

(Yeah, I get it. I'm having a bit of trouble here myself.)

I suck on his tip a little, and his eyes roll back, his toes curl as he tilts his head back and fists his hands in the sheets with a gasp, and that's it — my career is over. I'll never be able to look at him in court without thinking about this. But maybe… I won't have to just think about this.

When I press behind his sacs, he cries out in surprised pleasure, then he's tugging at my shoulders, so I obligingly shift up, straddling his hips. Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls me close to kiss me again, more deeply this time, more fully, and I want to be doing this for the rest of my life.

When we part for air, it's the most unguarded I've ever seen him, and suddenly, I can't look away.

(I'm… I'm getting lightheaded…) I probably forgot all about that air.

The moment stretches on… until Miles finally opens his mouth to say—

"I love you."

"We should talk."

Miles is gaping, and (stupid, Phoenix, stupid). He recovers and continues, "In the morning, was what I was going to say, but…" A soft smile breaks on his proud face. "I admit I was hoping you'd say that."

I let out the breath I was holding in a slight chuckle. "For a moment there, I was afraid you'd say you were booking a flight to Europe tomorrow."

He looks affronted. "Is that what you— Don't answer that."

I laugh, full and happy, and kiss him again. When we part this time, he whispers, "I—in that case, perhaps we should work on what you like now," cheeks ablaze and voice shy.

"In that case?" I echo, teasing. "You know that's only proper bed etiquette —bediquette, haha— all the time, right?"

"Well, yes, verily, I say… You— You know what I mean!"

(But you're so cute when you're flustered! Even since you were nine…) Still laughing, I roll us onto our sides. "Well, I was hoping you'd say we'd have years and years to work on that now, but… I do like that you're driven to succeed."

I know he's capturing my lips to shut me up, but when he whispers, "We will," between kisses, I find I don't mind at all.


	3. Last Signal

**Prompt:** I still believe that Edgeworth was seriously considering suicide when he wrote the infamous note, and when Phoenix got so mad and said it would be better for everyone if he hadn't come back, Edgeworth doesn't get mad because he agrees. He spent a year trying to find himself and where he belongs, and upon returning home he realizes the last people he knew have moved on and left him behind.

He decides it's time to go for real this time.

The actual prompt, Phoenix either walks in on Edgeworth about to kill himself or manages to get him on the phone and then realizes that something's wrong, he's slurring because he finished off a bottle of sleeping pills, his voice is shakey because he's losing blood. (I know he just wouldn't answer the phone) Phoenix has to literally talk him off the edge. Although obviously distressed and depressed, Miles is completely coherent and makes an emotionless, fact-based argument for why he's better off dead, including the fact that the one person who never gave up on him agreeing he should have just died. I'm rooting for a happy resolution, but it's also fine if Edgeworth goes off the edge. All I really ask is that his feelings be treated respectfully. No calling him stupid or weak or treating him like a drama queen. He's been through a lot, and he's tried to carry on alone, and now he's so tired and ready do break. He's so tired of fighting. He needs help, and he needs sympathy, but most of all he needs to be treated like a real human being with real problems.

Sorry this is weird. emotionally compromised anon needs some realistic treatment of depression.

* * *

 **Last Signal**

In the dim lamplight, Miles can't read the label on the bottle of red wine on his coffee table, but he remembers it's the best one he had, a Premier Cru he was saving for some occasion. Might as well be the last he'd ever drink, even if he's not sure why he bought it anymore. Not like there's anyone to save it for.

He stares at the bottles of Xanax and Prozac beside it, wondering how many of each he'll need. Maybe he should take them all just in case.

He's about to reach for them when the doorbell rings.

 _It's late — can't be mail or other such deliveries. Maybe it's Gumshoe delivering case files. What do they matter anymore?_ If he just ignores the bell, the detective will put it in his mailbox or send it to the office and leave.

The bell rings again. "Edgeworth? I know you're in there!"

 _Wright. It's Phoenix Wright. What is he doing here so late?_

"Edgeworth!" The doorbell sequence plays a third time. "Come on, I know it's late, but I'm not leaving these out here!"

If there's one thing he knows about Wright, it's that the man doesn't give up. Best to get it over with before the attorney does something crazy like break down his door — he's already started knocking.

He hauls himself out of the sofa, and the floor seems uneven as he walks to the door. He unlocks and opens it to glare at his late night visitor standing unrepentant on his porch in a T-shirt and jeans with several folders in his arms.

"Detective Gumshoe's car broke down, so I offered to bring these over for you," Wright offers by way of explanation, holding them out.

Miles narrows his eyes. Was the detective actively trying to get his salary cut? As much as he trusted Phoenix Wright, no one outside the police force or the prosecutor's office was supposed to have access to these.

"Thank you." He lets go of the door and wall to take them and sways.

"Whoa…" Wright's arms catch him, but the folders go clattering to the floor, and he curses his weakness, Gumshoe's car and Wright's timing. "How much did you have to drink? Let's get you to a seat. I'll grab the files in a sec. Come on."

He wants to refuse, but Wright is already half-carrying him to the living room, and it's warm, the scent of the other's cologne familiar, so he allows himself to lean closer one last time, to be lain down on the sofa. Wright pauses before going to get the files, quickly gathering all the scattered papers and folders before shutting the front door. He puts them in a haphazard pile on the other end of the coffee table and sits in the armchair.

"Edgeworth."

"Mmpf."

"Talk to me. What's going on?"

Oh. He's put two and two together. No sense hiding or denying anything then.

Wearily, Miles pushes himself upright. "You said it would have been better for everyone if I had never come back from the dead. I agree."

"Wait. What? You're— Edgeworth, I was angry. I didn't mean—"

"No. I'm not saying you did. I'm saying it's true."

"No." He flinches at the sudden fierceness in Wright's voice. "No, it isn't. Please." The other moves to sit beside him, warm and concerned and everything he doesn't deserve. "Tell me what this is about."

What this is about… He's not sure he cares to tell, doesn't even know how to put it into words. Logically, he knows what Wright will say, but that doesn't change anything. Leaning back, he stares up at the ceiling. Wright won't leave if he doesn't talk, he knows, and he doesn't have the energy for a fight to throw him out.

Eventually, he settles on, "I'm just… so tired…"

Wright doesn't say anything, waiting for him to continue, and Miles figures he owes the other this much.

"I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I don't know why I wake up in the morning. I… used to want to be a defense attorney."

Wright nods. "I remember."

"Recently, I even thought about trying it. But then I realized — I can't defend people, Wright. I don't have your undying faith. I even have trouble trusting myself. After DL-6, I didn't know whom I hated more — the lawyers, the murderers or myself. For fifteen years, I learned perfection and prosecution. But I was never perfect, no matter how hard I tried. In many ways, I wasn't even very good. Heh, I couldn't even be attracted to women like a normal man, and—"

"Edgeworth, there is _nothing_ wrong with that," Wright interjects, gripping Miles' forearm with surprising strength. "Nothing. And no one is perfect. Even von Karma. You know that."

"Yes," he agrees dispassionately, "everything I believed in, my entire life, has been one massive lie. I left to find myself, to… figure things out, and… I thought I did. But then I came back to realize… there was nothing to come back to."

Wright winces, but remains silent, and doesn't let go.

"A new perspective didn't change the emptiness of what I had. I thought I could keep prosecuting as long as I found the truth, but perhaps it is as Franziska says — that was simply a way to reconcile my failures with prosecuting being the only thing I've ever known." He smiles, self-deprecating, as he realizes he's gripping his left elbow. "If I really cared about the truth, I wouldn't have swept evidence that showed people might not be guilty under the rug for four years."

"H—hold it! That's… You can't undo fifteen years of indoctrination overnight. You have to… You have to forgive yourself."

Miles shakes his head, fingers curling in the silk of his pajamas. "There is no guarantee that the truth will be found either. And if the truth is not uncovered, then how is what I'm doing now any different? I'm not atoning, I'm not solving any problems, I'm not helping anybody — I'm here because it's all I know. There is no purpose I serve that wouldn't be better served by someone with greater conviction."

"Objection! That's not true. The prosecutor's office is better for your sharp logic, your meticulousness and your strong sense of justice. A—and there's no one the police would rather work with. Just ask Detective Gumshoe!"

"Hmph. I find that hard to believe, Wright," he replies, a sardonic twist to his lips. "I've never had any friends. All I know how to do is intimidate and hurt everyone around me. If my father could see me now, I doubt he'd approve of the person I've become. Even Franziska would have been better off without me to be compared to. I've even managed to let the one person who believed in me down. Who w—"

"Me." Wright sounds pleading. "Edgeworth… Miles, please." And no one's called him by that name since… since his father died. "I can't really speak for your father or Franziska, of course, but I don't believe they think that. And it's true that you let me down once, but that doesn't mean—"

"It's all right." The attorney has always been kind, too kind. That's how his finances haven't improved despite his courtroom prowess. He keeps defending people with little ability to pay and letting people take advantage of him, and Miles doesn't want to be yet one more person guilty of the latter. "I know you'd do anything when lives are at stake, Wright. I saw that in the Engarde trial. But as I said, it's true. You don't have to—"

"No! No," and he hasn't seen Wright cry openly like this since they were nine. "Please, just— just hear me out for a minute, okay?" He must have nodded because the other barrels on. "I know I said I felt betrayed and disappointed, and I was! I was. But I was also stupid, hurtful and thoughtless because I was hurt. It wasn't— That note… it really hurt me. I felt like every time I let myself love you, you'd up and disappear on me."

 _Wait. What?_

"And you coming back only meant that, someday, you'd do it again." Wright wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.

"This way," Miles offers, "it'd be the last time."

Wright slumps. "I'm really… useless at this, aren't I? I must be doing a godawful job if you thought that would make me feel better, if you're even trying to make me feel better when you're the one—" He takes a shuddering breath. "I mourned you, Miles. I _mourned_ you. For months, I— I barely ate; I barely slept; I didn't take any cases because it hurt too much to even look at the courthouse; I wouldn't even let Maya and Larry say your name. And to find out that all that grief was just… some kind of… _prank_ —"

"It wasn't," Miles corrects quickly and regrets it — he'll have to admit to all the ugliness now. "I… I almost did. I drove all the way out to some secluded cliff, but in the end, I couldn't go through with it." He lets out a hollow chuckle. "Heh, it's pathetic. Even at suicide, I failed."

Wright shakes his head. "I'm glad you didn't do it, Miles. Really, I am. And I know— I know this all sounds selfish, like I'm about to say you can't do this to me again, but," Wright takes him by the shoulders to make their eyes meet. "I just… I don't want you to think I ever stopped believing in you. I'm sorry I was a fool and I hurt you. That couldn't be further from the truth. In the Engarde trial, the only thing that kept me going was you, standing across that courtroom. If anyone else had been the prosecutor on that case, Maya would be dead, or Engarde would be free, or Andrews would be on death row. Miles, you're the reason things turned out as well as they did."

"No, it—"

"I couldn't have done it without you, it's the truth. So many times in that trial, I almost gave up, but I risked it because I trusted you. I still do. And just as I believed in everything you said about defending the weak back then, I believe even now in everything you said that day about finding the truth together. So don't… Please don't give up. You _are_ making a difference. One case at a time, that's all anyone can do right now, but I just know you'll be solving all the problems with our legal system soon enough. You're not a failure, Miles. Heck, you're a better lawyer than I'll ever be—"

"Objection. That isn't remotely true, and you know it."

"Objection! You actually _know_ the law, Miles. I barely passed the bar."

To be honest, he'd expected as much, but hearing it is still disconcerting. "Wright, you really shouldn't… go around admitting that… And what does it say that you're winning cases regardless?"

"That I'm the luckiest lawyer on Earth, and Mia was a better mentor than I deserved?" The other lets out a tiny snort, leaning closer. "Miles, you know I only win because my clients are genuinely innocent. If I didn't truly believe that, I wouldn't take the case."

"And I respect that, but it doesn't change the fact that I don't share your convictions."

"Don't you?"

"Wright, there are people I put on death row that might not be guilty, and instead of doing something about it, I ran away." He drops his gaze. "Now some of them are dead, and I don't deserve to live, but at heart, I know I'm still running away because, logically, I understand this won't bring them back, and that doesn't change a thing."

"Then don't. Let's retry them." The attorney shifts to take his hands instead, blue eyes bright and earnest. "Every case you ever doubted. Let's find the truth together."

Miles gasps. "Wright… You can't—" He looks away. "I— I've done little but cause you pain. I even tried to get you convicted for a murder I knew you didn't commit. You've more than repaid me for what little good I've ever done you. So how could you—? _Why_ would you…?"

For a moment, the other falls silent. Finally, he says, "Miles, I don't know how to help you."

Miles nods in understanding. _Of course. It couldn't be._ "Like I said, you don't have to. You have enough people to take care of without—"

"Objection! I mean that you should seek professional help!"

"I did." He waves at the pill bottles. "How else would I have those?"

"Then try again, change your therapist, whatever it takes to help you stop suffering and forgive yourself! Listen, I can't change what happened with your father. I can't change what happened with von Karma. I can't take away your pain, and I can't bring the dead back to life. But… if it's something I _can_ help you with, then I want to. I really, really want to. If it's the cases on your conscience, let's go through them. If it's something else, just tell me, let me in, and I'll do whatever I can. You don't have to do this alone."

"Wright," he pulls away, "I owe you enough. You have your own life to lead. You shouldn't waste it on someone who has nothing to give you."

"Miles, I—" Wright fumbles in his pocket. "Take that!" He holds out his keys, the worn key chain scratched and faded but still all too familiar.

Grey eyes widen. "…Signal Blue…" Miles still has his matching red one, preserved like new in a plastic case.

"I always keep it close, the only memento I had of you." Wright presses it to his heart. "I missed you, Miles. I was heartbroken when you never wrote back. If you don't believe me, you can ask Larry to testify. All I've wanted for the better part of my life was to have you back in it. I wish I could have been there for you then, but all I have is now. You're not a burden to me, and it's not about owing each other anything. You don't have to give me anything or love me back or—"

"I do," spills out before Miles can stop himself, and he's wondering if he's misunderstood it all when Wright lights up and gently guides him to rest his head on the attorney's broad shoulder.

"Does this mean…?"

Miles sighs, "Wright… Phoenix, I'm not… easy to be with. Even without these… episodes, I'm awkward and condescending, and I'm probably going to make you angry and miserable a lot—"

"But you're also brilliant, witty, righteous and loyal." The other presses his cheek to the crown of Miles' head. "I have my flaws too, you know. Sometimes, I don't think before I open my big mouth and say stupid and infuriating things, and I can't even make you a proper cup of tea, but…" Strong arms tighten around him. "I promise I'll never give up on you. And I hope that, someday, you'll tell me everything, and I'll be able to share or soothe even a little of your pain… I'll kiss your heart better?"

"Hmph," but Miles can feel his cheeks blazing. "Ridiculous."

"That I am. Too bad you're stuck with me now, huh?"

Miles huffs, closing his eyes. He doesn't think he's found any answers tonight, but strangely, it's… peaceful. Warm. Enough.

In the end, tonight was an occasion after all.


	4. Just A Little Longer

**Prompt:** Couple of your choice have enjoyed a long, romantic life together. They're getting up there in age. One wakes up to find the other passed away painlessly in their sleep.

Bittersweet, rather than utterly depressing? Maybe with the survivor going over all of the wonderful memories they still have.

* * *

 **Just A Little Longer**

Once, Miles Edgeworth thinks, they would be preparing for work by now. He would make a cup each of coffee and tea while Phoenix cooked breakfast or reheated last night's leftovers. Then he'd drive his spouse to the Wright Anything Agency before continuing to the Prosecutor's Building, like he'd done every morning for so many years.

Now that they've retired though, mornings are usually more like this — him running his fingers absently through surprisingly soft spikes of greying hair until Phoenix wakes up. He's still the earlier riser after all these years, and he often ends up reading entire books on his e-reader while waiting. Sometimes though, like today, all he wants to do is marvel at how the childhood friend he thought he'd never see again had managed to find him after fifteen years, how a simple question had finally given him the courage to face his true feelings and put an end to an eleven-year impasse.

Standing there side by side at the proper wedding after that crazy case while everyone else was occupied watching the girls chase down Larry, Phoenix suddenly said, "You know, I've been thinking about what the judge said during the trial."

"Hm?" He glanced sideways. "Which?" The judge had always been surprisingly talkative for a judge, and that trial had been no different.

"Miles…" Phoenix turned to face him. "Don't you think it's time?" Then they were kissing, and the truth is, it doesn't feel like forty years have passed since that day.

Kissing Phoenix still feels like it did the first time, and if anyone had asked back when he'd first met Phoenix Wright in Courtroom No. 1, he would never have imagined that the defense attorney could one day make him as happy as the last four decades have been.

In fact, after his father died, he didn't think he'd ever be happy again, but Phoenix had always had a knack for proving him wrong.

It got annoying sometimes, but mostly, Miles is grateful Phoenix never gives up when he knows he's right. It's that persistence that saved him, that helped countless others and realized dreams that once seemed so far out of reach.

Together, they hadn't just ended the dark age of the law; they'd reformed the whole legal system — cleansed the corruption from the criminal justice system, brought back jury trials and reinstated the presumption of innocence. Twenty years of working tirelessly together to bring true justice back to the legal process and restore the public's faith in a system that had failed them so often for so long, and it's still Miles that gets invited to the seminars, Miles that is lauded for their combined accomplishments, Miles that has his name printed in all the places Phoenix's really should have been, and of course Phoenix doesn't care about that sort of thing, is more than happy to tour and sketch the city while Miles sits through yet another boring legal seminar, but Miles does.

He wants everyone to know the name of this wonderful man, the one who really cared about the people whose lives they'd touched through their work, who'd started them down this path in the first place. People think he's being gracious when he says he couldn't have done it without his partner, but Phoenix won't let him say he _wouldn't_ have.

How easily people forget that Manfred von Karma's protégé wouldn't have cared a whit whether justice was actually being done, and only Phoenix Wright ever believed that the Miles Edgeworth he knew would have come around eventually.

Today, more than ever, he hopes that Phoenix has been proud —of the victories they have won, of the lives they have changed, of the successors they have mentored, of the peers and students they have inspired— and happy with the life they've shared together. He hopes that Phoenix has seen enough of the world, that forty anniversaries are enough, because they aren't even nearly enough for him, but all he can do now is press another kiss to cooling lips and hope he won't keep Phoenix waiting too long again.

But not yet. Not just yet.

Someone has to bring that cartload of presents down to Trucy in the hospital after all. And he's sure Phoenix would be disappointed to miss the birth of their third grandchild —not even the parents were that excited— but that's okay.

They've got Maya for that.


	5. Hotshot Kitten Blues

**Prompt:** We've had a lot (and I do mean a lot) of delicious Mia/Diego/Bratworth prompts in the past, but I want to propose another one.

Mia and Diego first met Bratworth up to a year before the Fawles case. Mia and Diego decide that it's a good thing he's so pretty since he desperately needs to be taught some better manners - especially some alternative ways he can occupy his mouth whenever he feels the urge to be rude to others, thank you very much, kitten. And then Fawles' poisoning, followed swiftly by Diego's, brought the whole thing to a sudden and painful end.

However, Bratworth didn't know that Mia was a meticulous record keeper, and kept some extremely detailed notes (and photos/videos if authanon is comfortable with that) of his 'etiquette lessons' for her own private enjoyment. At some point after case 3-5, Phoenix is tidying up the office and finds these particular records hidden somewhere. And he ends up very, very grateful for Mia's deep dedication to detail.

Bonus if it turns out that current-era Edgeworth still has a strong oral fixation, either because our fave power couple simultaneously exploited and indulged an already existing fixation, or else their lessons irreversibly linked oral stimuli and sexual pleasure for him.

* * *

 **Hotshot Kitten Blues**

When the phone on his desk rings, the Chief Prosecutor doesn't even look up from the file he's reading to answer it.

"Hello. Miles Edgeworth speaking."

"Edgeworth, hey," comes the distinctive voice of his longtime rival and, more recently, lover.

"Wright." He sets the file down and removes his glasses. "What do you need help with this time?"

"Wh— Objection! I don't call you for favors that often!"

"Wright, work phone, working hours. What is it?"

"Could you come by the office after work today?"

He raises an eyebrow. "And why am I making this detour?"

"Well, I was just cleaning out the office…" He can just picture the other scratching the back of his head, and he can feel a twitch of irritation coming on.

"Wright, my car is not your personal U-Haul truck."

"No, no, no! Just come over, okay? I found some files you might be interested in."

Miles rubs the bridge of his nose. "Very well."

"Huh? Really? Okay! I'll see you at…?"

"Seven."

"Great! Great. I'll see you at seven then. Bye!"

The phone clicks as the other hangs up, and he slowly returns the handset to its cradle. Clearly, Wright can't believe he agreed. Miles can't believe he agreed either. All these performance reviews must be getting to him.

* * *

Phoenix Wright sets his cellphone down as if in a dream. He can hardly believe his eyes and his ears today. In truth, he should have cleaned out Mia's old files years ago, but somehow, even though Maya had helped him go through the rest of Mia's belongings here pretty soon after the incident at Hazakura Temple, he had never gotten around to these files… until they nearly fell on Apollo earlier.

He'd never expected to find this notebook and flash drive hidden away under the piles between the dusty folders though.

Glad that Apollo had left early in a huff to go on a date with Klavier while Athena had agreed to be Trucy's stage assistant for her magic show tonight, he restarts the video on the flash drive.

It's Mia saying, "This is the nineteenth time we've met like this," wearing a sexy black mini dress in an unfamiliar living room decked out with lit candles. "Ever since Diego came up with the idea of these… disciplinary sessions…"

"And haven't they worked marvellously, Kitten?" A handsome man asks, joining her on screen in a dress shirt and slacks. It's so strange seeing him without the visor and white hair — Phoenix probably wouldn't have recognised him if not for the usual mug of coffee in hand. He winds an arm around her waist to squeeze in a brief hug and kisses her on the cheek.

They look so happy together here, and Phoenix would share this with Maya if not for what comes after.

Mia laughs. "Well, he doesn't know that we record these for review, but we delete them pretty quickly, so no harm done, I guess." The doorbell rings in the background. "Oh, he's here." She reaches toward the camera, probably arranging some items around it, then goes with Diego to open the door.

It's been about ten years since the timestamp on this video, but Phoenix would recognize that signature combination of pink and ruffles any day, anywhere. Heck, that very suit is still hanging in a frame in the man's office, and maybe one day, he should actually ask about its significance.

Miles Edgeworth nods politely at the couple in the video, says something too softly to hear as they shut the door behind him. Then he's setting his briefcase down on a nearby chair, removing his jacket and waistcoat and untying his cravat before following them into the living room proper to resume undressing, closer to the camera and in full view.

"Hey, Mr. Genius Prosecutor," Diego drawls, stepping closer to cup Miles' cheek as the younger man folds his shirt. "How's life been treating you?"

"We agreed we wouldn't discuss such matters here," the young prosecutor replies, stepping out of his pants.

"Ha…! Still frosty as a frappé. But…" The pad of Diego's thumb runs over Miles' bottom lip. "We heard you've been good…" It presses in, slides back the other way and pushes in deeper. "Watching that pretty mouth of yours…"

As he watches, Miles starts sucking on the digit, a light flush spreading over his nose and cheekbones. He's completely nude now, all toned muscle and creamy skin, and Phoenix feels his mouth run dry again, his own memories filling in the light dusting of silvery grey hair that covers those perfect chest and abs.

(Damn, Miles has always been beautiful.)

"So we decided…" Mia rejoins them, holding out a nice big maroon gift box to Miles that Phoenix can't see the contents of from here. "…that you'll get to choose today, which ones we're going to play with."

As grey eyes look into the open box, the blush on pale skin deepens and spreads down. Hesitantly, Miles reaches in and lifts out a strip of black cloth edged with subtle red ruffles and adorned with a silver bell in the middle.

Diego makes a sound of approval. "My Kitten's got good taste in collars, doesn't she?"

"Of course I do." Mia smiles smugly, and Diego tugs her into his side.

"What else, boy wonder?"

More slowly, somewhere between shy and reverent, Miles selects a curved and ribbed purple… That's a vibrator, Phoenix realizes now, and not for the first time, he wishes he'd met Mia earlier.

"So that's your favorite," Diego murmurs, smacking Miles' behind suddenly — the younger man straightens, tense and gasping, and Diego seizes the opportunity to capture parted lips in a kiss while Mia sets the box down on the coffee table before fastening the collar around that long, graceful neck. The bell tinkles as it bobs over Miles' Adam's apple when he moans into the kiss, and even from here, Phoenix can see the erection rising from its nest of silver-grey.

(W—wow, he's really into it…)

Mia takes the vibrator from Miles' hand, which puts it in clearer view of the camera — there is a noose-like attachment to the base. She strokes it suggestively with her long fingers as Diego breaks their kiss and smirks.

"You know what you've gotta do to get her to give it to you, don't you?"

Miles nods once and drops to his knees (along with Phoenix's jaw) on the rug without hesitation.

"If you're really good, I'll even let Diego do the honors," Mia adds with a wink as Diego pulls her onto the couch with him.

Miles makes a sound like a needy keen, and she chuckles, teasing. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Well, of course Miles would prefer a man's touch — he's gay. But that doesn't stop him from lifting Mia's left foot almost reverently in both hands and pressing a kiss to the top of it as he rubs the sole, and she sighs with pleasure, nosing the hint of beard on Diego's chin before kissing him. He unzips her dress as she unbuttons his shirt, sliding a tanned hand down her back to unhook her bra, and it feels weird and wrong, somehow, to be watching his mentor have sex —this is where he'd hurriedly stopped earlier— but Phoenix can't take his eyes off Miles.

Miles who is kissing his way up her killer legs from the side of her ankle, running a hand slowly up the leg he isn't worshipping with his mouth, and Phoenix wishes he could see the man's expression. As Miles reaches the top, Diego hitches Mia's dress up to help, and it turns out she has gone commando for the night.

(Oh… my… God…)

A part of Phoenix wants to stop. Right here, right now.

But then Miles hesitates for a beat before burying his face in her groin, and another part of Phoenix is palming his crotch.

Mia moans, long and loud, her hands flying to grey hair as his busy themselves with the back of her knees, and Diego leans in to trail kisses down her neck and cleavage, running his hands through her lustrous tresses.

"He treating you right, Kitten?" he purrs the question, and she nods, handing him the vibrator.

He traces Miles' spine playfully with the tip, and the bell tinkles as Miles trembles with anticipation. Then he's reaching forward, and Phoenix can't see what he's doing because Miles' body is in the way, but it makes Miles gasp and stop.

"Never do things by halves, hotshot," Diego warns, as he continues whatever he's doing. "That's one of my rules."

Miles hurriedly resumes, and Mia cries out this time, so Diego stands, discarding his shirt with a flourish and circling around behind the other man. He's tan and chiselled, chest covered in black curls and toned muscles rippling down his arms and chest as he grabs a bottle from the box and pours some of its contents onto his hand — lube.

Then he's parting Miles' glutes and teasing Miles' entrance with slick fingers, and the younger man's wanton moan goes straight to Phoenix's cock.

"Oh God, Miles," he groans into his hand as, in the video, Miles' thrusts his hips back onto Diego's fingers with a desperate whine.

"You want this bad, don't you?" Diego drawls. "Hm?"

"Ahh! Y—yes!" Miles gasps — Diego thrusted his fingers a little more sharply.

"Kitten?"

"Oh… Well, he's been good all week and all night," Mia reasons, her voice unfairly level, if more than a little breathy. "I say… we shouldn't bully the kid. Ah!"

Diego obligingly takes hold of the vibrator then and covers it in lubricant before inserting it, and boy does Phoenix wish he could take its place. Miles is whimpering with every ribbed section sinking into him, and Phoenix remembers that hot, tight passage all too well, can't even nearly replicate its amazing sensation with the tunnel of his fist.

Suddenly, Mia all but screams, back arching, and oh God, Phoenix is never going to be able to reminisce with Maya about her sister with a straight face ever again.

"Please, Kitten… You're killing me over here."

Now sprawled on the sofa, Mia languidly flips her hair out of her face to give him a sultry smile. "Go on, it's your turn."

Miles looks almost eager as he reaches out to unfasten Diego's pants, and Phoenix is so glad he found this video as late as he did now because there's no chance of him facing Godot in court anymore. That said, Diego may have the better upper body, but he's got nothing on Miles waist down.

(Must be all those stairs.)

He steps out of his slacks and stops by the box before returning to Mia's side on the couch. She giggles when he tosses her a small purple item, then yelps as he crawls between her legs to slip a hand under her dress. She gasps, then he waves another device in his hand at her.

"Ha…! It's not over till I say it is, Kitten," and they share a sly smile as he takes her hand and pulls her upright.

Diego splays his legs, pulling Miles closer by the tinkling collar. "Listen, hotshot, we're going to put that smart mouth of yours to work, just the way you like it, right?"

Miles nods, licking slightly swollen lips.

"Well, it's go time. You make it good for me, I make it good for her, she makes it good for you. You get it, don't you?"

"Yes." And then Miles is going down on him, and Phoenix has to admit he's a tiny bit jealous as that perfect mouth closes around the other man's cock.

Mia climbs over to kneel astride Diego's hips, and he presses her close, peppers her neck with kisses as she loops her arms around his. Phoenix is glad she hasn't removed her dress — it's bad enough he's seen her O-face now. Then she sighs, Miles moans loudly around Diego's cock, and Phoenix's hand tightens around his own.

Diego and Mia get louder as they go, but all Phoenix can focus on is the tinkling of the collar's bell as Miles' head bobs up and down, the imagined sensation of his throat engulfing the other's full length, the sweat glistening off his trembling back in the combined lamp and candlelight, the jerky movements of his hips like he can't decide whether he wants to thrust forward or back.

Then Diego comes with a shout, Miles slumps with a muffled cry nary a second later, and Phoenix bites down on the side of his hand as his vision whites out.

(God, Miles, the things I'm going to do you tonight…)

By the time he has the presence of mind to look up again, the video has ended, and he finds himself staring back at the bookmarked page in the notebook that made him check the contents of the flash drive in the first place.

In Mia's neat cursive, the only thing written on that page is, _I know I should delete that video, but I can't bring myself to erase the last one we took together._

Phoenix had deduced it involved Diego, of course, but he'd never even dreamed it would be a sex tape with Miles, of all people. His lover had certainly never mentioned being that well acquainted with his mentor, after all.

(Argh… Mia, warn a man next time!)

First, he's going to get properly cleaned up in the bathroom. Then he's going to decide whether or not to read the rest of that notebook before Miles arrives.

* * *

It's two minutes to seven when Miles lets himself into the Wright Anything Agency, and he's immediately assailed by the aroma of Chinese food.

"Hey!"

Phoenix is laying out takeout boxes on the table by the couch, and truth be told, Miles is glad to be here. Being relatively near to Chinatown, the Chinese food nearby is actually quite good, and spending time with Phoenix has a way of soothing away the day's weariness, at least when they aren't working together on a case.

"You're just in time. I figured if I'm making you detour all the way here, I should at least get dinner."

"How… considerate of you." He locks the door behind him, sets his briefcase down on the armchair and hangs his suit jacket up on the coat hanger.

"Miles," Phoenix sighs, "could you at least try to sound less surprised?"

"Oof, you know I didn't—"

But Phoenix silences him with a quick peck on the lips. "How was work?"

He lets himself be led to the couch and removes his glasses to set them atop his briefcase. "I was reviewing the Paynes," he replies as if it explained everything.

Blue eyes fill with sympathy. "I see." It did.

The other hands him a pair of chopsticks with a box of beef lo mein and sets the large container of wonton soup in front of him before settling into his side to eat fried rice with sesame chicken, and Miles smiles into his dinner.

Phoenix might not be able to afford much of the fancy cuisine that Miles is used to, but he does know exactly what Miles likes and always goes out of his way to buy or cook what he can. In moments like these, he doesn't know why he waited so many years. He rests his head on surprisingly soft hair, and they eat in companionable silence.

"So," he ventures as they are clearing up the takeout boxes after dinner, "those files you wanted to show me…"

"Ah, right." Phoenix ties everything up in the bag it came in, then leaves it to head into his office proper. "Come on in."

Miles joins him to find him using the desktop computer, a rare sight.

"Over here."

Intrigued, he obligingly circles the desk. "What—"

"So, like I said, I was cleaning out the office earlier, and among Mia's old case files, I found this notebook and this flash drive." Phoenix taps them both lightly in indication, and Miles notices that, for the first time tonight, Phoenix is palpably nervous. But before he can think any further on that, Phoenix plows on. "Here, have a look at this."

The video starts playing, and Miles' stomach plummets in horror. It's a living room from another life, another time, and he gapes as his younger self enters and starts undressing with little preamble. Then Diego Armando approaches, and Miles immediately snatches the mouse to exit as his memories of that encounter come rushing back.

"Did you—" He takes a deep calming breath before turning to Phoenix. "Did you watch this?"

"Yes," the other replies honestly, and his cheeks flame — Miles has never felt more mortified.

"A—all of it?"

"Kinda, yeah, I couldn't stop." Phoenix stands, backing him into the table. "Why didn't you tell me you knew Mia that well?"

"I didn't," he protests, perching on the edge. "Ms. Fey, Mr. Armando and I had a— an arrangement. And after Mr. Armando was poisoned, I never saw her again… until that day at the pathologist's office."

"An arrangement," Phoenix echoes flatly, no outward sign of his feelings on the matter.

"I— I was a very different person back then." He looks down, face burning in shame. "As I'm sure you remember."

"I remember." Phoenix steps closer still.

"Then—"

"That was the hottest thing I've ever seen."

(What?)

Miles glances up, surprised, and suddenly they're kissing. The tip of Phoenix's tongue teases at the seam of his lips, and it's instinct to let him in, but then it traces the inside of his bottom lip, and he can feel his body respond. Phoenix tilts his head, mouth moving sensually over his own, to deepen the kiss, and Miles can't hold in the moan that rises in his throat when Phoenix's tongue caresses his own.

"So it's true…" Phoenix murmurs with wonder when they part — a warm hand cups the bulge in his pants, and Miles' eyes flutter shut as his breath hitches.

"That's—" Miles swallows to moisten his dry throat. "Why do you think I never let you kiss me where I can't have sex with you?" Phoenix has always been a great kisser, and Miles was so turned on the first time they kissed that they barely made it into Phoenix's apartment, and he'd never been more grateful that Trucy was sleeping over at a friend's. It was all the confirmation he'd never needed that Phoenix is the one.

At the lack of response, he opens his eyes to catch the look of happy relief on Phoenix's face and is confused for a moment before— (Oh. He must have thought I wanted to hide our relationship, since I insisted on maintaining formalities during working hours.) "Phoenix, I— You know I'm… proud to be your partner, don't you? I mean—"

But Phoenix is already kissing him again, one hand on his cheek and the other squeezing his ass, tongue twining with his own in invitation, and when he chases that sensual slide, the residual sweetness of dinner's sesame chicken, Phoenix sucks on his tongue like— like—

He cries out into the kiss, fully erect, and bodily pushes Phoenix into his chair before dropping to his knees and working on his lover's belt. Phoenix obligingly lifts his hips to let Miles pull his pants and boxer briefs down and moans for Miles as he's deep-throated. It's been a while, but it comes back easily, and the heady scent of Phoenix's musk here is enough to have him leaking in his pants. He whimpers around the thick length in his mouth, loving the stretch of his jaw and the weight on his tongue and the taste of his lover as he swallows around him.

Phoenix gasps, and their eyes meet. Miles doesn't look away as he hollows his cheeks and pulls off slowly, his name falling from his lover's lips in a hoarse whisper. This, he thinks, is what he's always wanted. He'd had a good thing with Fey and Armando, enough so that Armando's poisoning had been upsetting, but he hadn't loved them.

In truth, he realizes now, he's never loved anyone else.

Stopping halfway, he dives back in, pries Phoenix's hands from the armrests to bring them to his hair, and Phoenix instinctively massages his scalp, pressing him gently down. Black curls brush his nose and lips as Phoenix tugs lightly on his hair, and Miles can't get enough.

"God, Miles, Miles, please…" Phoenix groans as if he has to ask, and Miles savors the rough drag on his inner lip, the familiar array of textures on his tongue and the transfixed expression on his lover's face as Phoenix trembles with the effort of holding still.

He flicks his tongue over the ridge, does it again when he realizes Phoenix is breathless and close, eyes locked on him, and wonders why he ever thought anything would change. When he tightens his lips just below the head, licks precum off the slit and sucks on the tip, Phoenix makes a desperate sound he's come to recognize well.

"M—Miles, I'm—" as if he can't tell, but Phoenix's hands tighten in his hair, and he needs, he _needs_ —

He goes back in, buries his face in _Phoenix_ and moans at the fullness in his mouth and throat and—

Phoenix cries out, spilling hot down his throat, and Miles' orgasm sears through him, even into his eyelids. Swallowing comes naturally, and Phoenix is murmuring his name like a litany as Miles milks him through his orgasm. Miles feels… strung out when he finally pulls off, strung out like he hasn't been in a while, but when he rests his head on Phoenix's knee to look up at his lover, the promise in blue eyes still stirs desire in his loins.

"Um…" Phoenix scratches the back of his head. "You really…"

"Yes."

Then Phoenix grins. "That was amazing."

And Miles doesn't really know what to say to that, so he ventures, "Thank you…?"

"So… I was wondering. About that toy in the video…"

"I have one," he admits, looking down as he feels color rise in his cheeks again. It's a vibrating double cock ring attached to an anal vibrator, and _everything_ feels good when he has that inside. At the highest setting, he can literally do nothing but come untouched in mere minutes, but "Even at the lowest setting…"

"You'll come when I kiss you?"

Miles nods. To be honest, with that on long enough, Phoenix could probably make him come from just about anything, but there is no way he's going to admit to that.

Phoenix reaches out to stroke his hair, and he wants to protest that he's not a pet, but… it's nice. And if he's perfectly honest with himself, he wouldn't mind if it's Phoenix… especially if it's Phoenix.

As if reading his mind, the other asks, "So, um… Would you want to do anything like…" He gestures at the computer screen. "…with me? I mean, it doesn't have to be exactly like that. I know how that ended, after all, but…"

"You really liked what you saw."

"I did say it was the hottest thing I'd ever seen, although you've kinda just raised the bar on that a little."

"We could… go shopping together," he allows, trying not to feel like he's dooming the rest of his life and career here, but then Phoenix lights up and pulls him into another kiss.

"I love you," he murmurs, and Miles sighs — he still doesn't know how to say this without sounding forced or insincere even though he genuinely does feel the same.

But Phoenix never demands it of him, is already moving on. "So about this video…"

Right. "Phoenix Wright," he says sternly, "if you do not format that drive right this minute—"

"Mm, headline: Chief Prosecutor's Sex Tape Goes Viral."

"Phoenix," he snaps, crossing his arms.

"I was kidding! What do you take me for?! But seriously, how do you format a drive?"

Miles feels a headache coming on and reaches up to massage the bridge of his nose.

"You know I'm not good with all this technology stuff, Miles. Here, why don't you do it?"

Phoenix tugs him to sit on his lap, and Miles tries not to think about that delicious cock pressing into the split of his ass as he quickly formats the flash drive. It's sticky and uncomfortable in his pants now though, and he's gratified that Phoenix grunts when he squirms.

"You should take the notebook too. I figure it's yours to keep or burn, now that Mia and Diego are…"

"Did you read it?"

"Only the first and last pages. Once I realized what it was about, it felt wrong reading it."

There's something really endearing about Phoenix still being like this after all these years.

"We could read it together," Miles suggests tentatively, "since we're going to… start something similar."

His lover brightens, grinning widely. "Your place then?"

He winces a bit as he stands. "What about Trucy?"

"She's with Athena. I'll call later to let her know. She'll—"

"Cheer us on," Miles agrees — the last time he was alone with the girl, she'd asked when he was going to marry her daddy. And maybe she's right. Maybe it's time.

"Mm." Phoenix fixes his clothes and pecks Miles on the nose. "You know, it's good you always carry that big metal briefcase around."

He follows the other's gaze down to the conspicuous wet spot in his pants and groans, "Nghooooh…"

Phoenix only wraps an arm around his waist and leans into his side, laughing contentedly. "It's all about strategic placement," Miles keeps in mind as he makes a beeline for his car while Phoenix locks up and takes out the trash.

But then Phoenix is buckling his seatbelt beside him and covering his hand on the gearstick with warm affection, and Miles decides, "Let's go shopping this Sunday." There's another shop he wants to stop by now.


	6. Casting Call

**Prompt:** I'm going to hell for this and my medical kink.

MitsuNaru prostate exam. Either roleplay or ridiculously unprofessional actual Dr. Edgeworth and patient Phoenix having the hots for each other. Fake-professional behavior during blatant sexual touching. Excessive rubbing, stroking, admiring of anything visible. Please make Phoenix wear either a patient's robe or a shirt, either pushed up his back. Also Edgeworth is a master at roleplay and dirty talk when he's "in the zone". Bonus for Miles slapping Phoenix' rear with the stupidest excuse of 'Excuse my unprofessionalism, I couldn't help myself'.

* * *

 **Casting Call**

Dr. Miles Edgeworth neatly files away everything related to his last patient as the nurse for the day calls in the next, one Mr. Phoenix Wright. Hearing shuffling footsteps, he looks up to see a man with unusually spiky black hair enter with his hands in the pockets of his blue hoodie. The patient sits down in the consultation chair and, as blue eyes meet grey, Miles realizes that his new patient is very handsome. Tired, a little pale, but nevertheless very handsome and _exactly his type._

It's not till he hears the door click shut behind the nurse as she leaves that he realizes they have been staring at each other in silence, and it's probably getting awkward right about now.

Miles clears his dry throat. "Well, good afternoon, Mr. Wright. What can I do for you today?"

"Uh… Me…" Blue eyes widen. "Me? I— I've been having awful diarrhoea since yesterday evening. A—and I think there may have been blood in it the last time, but I'm not too sure…"

It takes a moment for Miles to remember he's supposed to be writing this down, and he hurriedly stops gaping long enough to do so. "And when was this?"

"Around four in the morning."

"What did you have before it started, and how many times have you been to the bathroom since it did?"

"I went for burgers with my colleagues at around seven. The diarrhoea started around nine, and I went every hour until midnight, then I passed out from exhaustion and woke up once at four to go again before returning to sleep."

Miles willfully focuses on scribbling down the salient points of that story instead of the siren's voice telling it. "Any history of gastrointestinal issues? Any known allergies or food intolerances?"

"Not that I know of." Wright squirms a bit, as if trying to get comfortable in his jeans.

 _Well, he'll be taking them off soon enough._ Miles shakes his head to clear it. "Any other symptoms?"

"Some stomachache, a bit of cold sweat."

"Nothing else?"

Wright shakes his head slowly.

"Any family members with similar problems? Did any of your colleagues report similar symptoms?"

He shakes his head again.

"All right." Miles stands, smooths out his lab coat. "Well, we'll need a stool sample to test for fecal occult blood and microbiology—"

"Now?" The man slumps. "I don't think… I haven't dared to eat anything since those burgers."

Miles checks his watch — it's two in the afternoon. "Well, maybe you can come back for that, but in the meantime, I need you to come over to the examination table back here for your abdominal examination and DRE."

Gingerly, with effort, the patient stands, and Miles offers him a hand none too soon — Wright sways, and Miles hurriedly catches him… along with a whiff of mixed cologne and deodorant that make an oddly pleasant combination.

"Sorry." He leans heavily on Miles as they make their way to the examination table, breathing deeply.

 _Is he… smelling me?_ Miles dismisses the thought as he helps Wright sit down on the examination table. "You haven't eaten in seventeen hours. I'll get the nurse to bring you a small glucose drink with the gown."

"Thank you."

Miles heads to the adjoining room to make that request and goes back to his desk to review what he has so far in an attempt at actually doing his job while the nurse takes care of making sure Wright finishes the drink and changes into the gown. Assuming there really is blood, he'll have to figure out where the bleeding is coming from before drawing any conclusions. Otherwise, it could just be food poisoning.

He locks the door behind the nurse for privacy when she leaves and hovers outside the blue curtain around the examination table. "Mr. Wright, are you ready?"

There's a moment's silence before, "Yes."

Miles slips past the curtain to find the man already lying down and the blue patient gown leaving little to the imagination, never mind he's about to lift it. He reaches out to push the thin fabric up out of the way, lets his hands casually brush over the man's nipples as he works and pretends he doesn't notice the slight squirming.

But then he gets a good look, and his mouth runs dry.

Wright isn't very bulky, but the muscles of his torso are well-defined, and the smattering of black hair dusted over his fair skin makes a nice contrast. Miles tells himself he's checking for visible abnormalities, but his eyes keep drifting back to those pert rosy nipples and the man's gorgeous penis nestled between lean thighs on a bed of black curls. Well, okay, Miles admits there isn't anything truly extraordinary about it, but it completes an already delectable picture, and all he can think about is how much he wants—

"Dr. Edgeworth?"

"Yes?" That came out way too hoarse. He swallows to moisten his parched throat and tries again. "There are no visible abnormalities. Are you cold?"

"No, I'm fine. But you're very hot, doctor."

They gasp as one.

"Uh, I mean— Your face is very flushed!" Wright almost squeaks, mortified. "M—maybe you need it to be colder!"

Oh. _Oh._ "Uh…"

"P—please just continue," the other pleads in a small voice, refusing to look at him and blushing a bright scarlet.

"R—right."

He really does need to make a diagnosis, so he puts his stethoscope into his ears and listens past the man's racing pulse for any sign of abdominal abnormalities, but he can't hear anything unexpected. He takes it off, then continues with the percussion check — some gas, still nothing unexpected. He asks Wright to roll onto his side, his hands lingering on slim hips as he helps, and oh, the man has a rather fine ass too, but he'll have full view of that soon.

By this point, lying on his back again, Wright is sweating lightly, and it's a nice sheen on his skin. The blush has travelled down his neck and chest, and it's more appealing than it has any right to be. Miles' fingers sweep over a nipple as he counts to the last rib to begin palpation — the man's breath hitches, then goes staccato, and it's difficult to time the pressure.

He clears his throat. "Mr. Wright." Blue eyes snap to his, blown with desire, and the words die on his tongue.

"Yes?" Oh God, his voice has turned a little husky, and it's gone straight to Miles' groin.

"I need—" _to climb onto this table and have my way with you, but I'm facing a lawsuit and license revocation as it is — Miles Edgeworth, you are a fool._

"Yes…?" Breathless, hopeful.

 _Oh dear God._ "Could you take slow, deep breaths for me?"

And Wright even looks _disappointed_ as he complies.

Miles moves his hands, applying light pressure and feeling for abnormalities of the various organs in the abdominal area, somewhere between genuinely trying to get to a diagnosis of the man's health and savoring the feeling of this beautiful man's warm skin and smooth planes of muscle shifting beneath his palms. As he gets further down, he feels the other shiver in what might be anticipation and can't help staring at that rosy, semi-erect penis that he really should have covered with a sheet earlier, but—

"When was your last testicular exam?" _W—what am I saying?!_

Blue eyes snap to grey, wide with shock. Then Wright breaks into a conspiratorial grin. "Oh, I don't know…" Still holding his gaze, the other sits up. "Back when I was a teenager, probably. Why, doctor, do you think I'm due for one?"

He's flirting. _Flirting._ This man is the Devil, and Miles is an idiot Satanist about to sacrifice all his sleepless nights in medical school.

"Yes," he manages, resolve waning. "Would you like one?"

"That depends." Wright smirks, warm hands covering his own where they're resting on bare thighs, and Miles' breath quickens. "Are you charging?"

 _Damn him._ "Not unless I find any irregularities."

Before either of them can change their minds, Miles wraps a hand around Wright's penis and honestly checks for abnormalities in the half-beat before the other groans softly, blue eyes fluttering closed and tightening his hold on the hand he still has as his erection swells.

"Do you get this a lot, doctor?" he asks, soft and breathy.

"Don't worry." Miles doesn't think he sounds very reassuring. "This is a perfectly normal reaction, and I haven't found any abnormalities so far." All true though.

Wright falls against him, chest heaving, when he strokes firmly, and buries his face in Miles' shoulder to muffle a louder moan, splaying his legs wider to allow more access.

"Let me check these too," Miles cups the testes below, "see if there are any tumors." He runs his fingers over them, and—

"Ngh… hah…" Wright's toes curl as his free hand comes up to grip Miles' shoulder, and Miles turns to say he hasn't found any lumps and they feel right, but then Wright kisses him.

Grey eyes flutter shut, and Miles realizes he's a goner. This fiend has found his one true weakness, and Phoenix Wright doesn't kiss like they're strangers who just met less than an hour ago. No, he kisses like he knows exactly what makes Miles' heart skip a beat and knees go weak, or it's just biochemistry playing tricks with his head, but either way, their tongues twine, and Miles _knows_ he hasn't seen the last of Phoenix Wright.

Somehow, _somehow,_ Wright has managed to undo his maroon slacks with one hand, and he's turned to wrap his arms and legs around Miles. And somehow, Miles' arms are around him too, one hand buried in hair that is so much softer than it looks as Wright captures his lips again and again, like he can't get enough. Miles can only kiss back, pressing his forehead to the other's when they part, and he's immeasurably relieved to find that Wright looks just as unhinged, if not more.

"Oh my God… You are not real," Wright breathes, chuckling.

Before Miles can ask, warm fingers glide over his erection through the smooth fabric of his boxer briefs, and he curls in on the other man with a soft whine as precum leaks into a growing wet spot.

"Is that black silk? You must have walked out of my fantasies."

Then his hand slips in to free the trapped organ, but leaves heavy testes under the waistband, and Miles trembles as the pad of his thumb spreads precum all over the glans and down. The tug and the pressure intensifies the sensations as Wright keeps playing, and Miles doesn't remember the last time anyone touched him, but when he guides Wright by the back of his neck into another kiss, Wright still tastes of the grape-flavored glucose mix they keep around for hypoglycemia, and the realization reminds Miles that he really needs to complete that DRE.

"W—we need to move on to that DRE," he whispers over wet lips as they gasp for air, even as his hips buck.

"Yeah…"

Wright stops, _licks his fingers,_ and eagerly shifts into position, bending over the examination table with his ass in the air, and only years of training have Miles reaching for the disinfecting lubricant and examination gloves.

He can't see anything outwardly wrong with the man's anus. No, it's delectably rosy, and all he wants is to kiss it, taste it, slide his tongue in and worship it with his mouth until Wright either comes or begs for it, but the vestiges of sanity tell him that's a massive health risk, especially if Wright has some kind of infection underlying that diarrhoea.

So instead, he ruts into the other's inner thigh, smears precum on heated skin, and kneads unmarred glutes apart. "Someone's eager. You've taken it like this before?"

"Yeah." Then Wright tenses. "I—I'm clean, I swear!"

Miles kisses the small of Wright's back, soothing, as he pulls on a glove. He's so far gone — he hadn't even thought to ask. "As am I. I don't… often do this."

"At all or with your patients?"

Miles jerks away as if burned. _Damn it, he's right. He's—_

"Wait, wait, no, I'm sorry, Miles." Wright hurriedly turns to catch him by the elbow he's gripping. "Can I call you 'Miles'? Please don't stop. I didn't mean—"

"No, you're right. We shouldn't—"

"We have," Wright points out firmly, and Miles flinches. "So finish it, and if you never want to see me again, I won't cause you any trouble, I promise."

"But I do!" Miles blurts, going red in the face at the other's surprise. "Want to see you again, I mean," he mumbles, looking away. "And not… not like this."

Wright breaks into a brilliant smile, taking his hands. "Great! Great, me too. So you have nothing to worry about. Now come back here and complete the exam, so we have something to show for all the time we've spent in here."

It's true that they need to get this DRE done if he even hopes to feign innocence after this. So he lets Wright lead him back to the examination table, lets himself fall into those twinkling blue eyes and another breathtaking kiss. Like in a dream, they get back to where they were earlier, and he mouths his way up the other's spine as he covers his gloved fingers generously in the lubricant and spreads the gel liberally over that puckered opening. Wright grabs the pillow from the head of the bed and buries his face in it to moan as Miles keeps dipping his fingertips in only to move away again — the next best thing to what he originally had in mind.

"Please, Miles," Wright whispers, lacing the fingers of their left hands as he writhes beneath Miles. "Please," and he presses in without a second thought.

The other's breath hitches, and that ring of muscle clenches briefly around his finger, then relaxes as he explores. It's smooth, and the tiny part of his brain that's still working tells him that's a good sign. Then he finds the man's prostate, and the way Wright cries out, even into the pillow, leaves him immensely grateful for the soundproofing on the room to maintain doctor-patient confidentiality. He rubs over it gently, genuinely feeling for the sulcus and any irregularities, but Wright thrusts back, wanton, so he ups the pressure, adds a second finger and crooks them and—

Wright freezes.

Then he's screaming Miles' name into the pillow as he comes, and it's almost, _almost_ enough. Miles' hips stutter against the other's as he fingers Wright through his orgasm, and he can feel the man —possibly— come a second time before slumping, but he doesn't stop, and Wright doesn't tell him to. So he scissors his fingers and changes it up — switching sides, alternating pressure, tapping and stroking that sensitive gland as Wright whimpers, shaking, still dripping, and it isn't till he tests the stretch again that Wright turns, eyes damp.

"Hngh… n—no, wait."

It's winded, barely audible, but Miles only taps again, and Wright exhales shakily as his hips twitch. _Good God._

Miles smacks his ass.

Wright hisses as the sharp impact resounds in the room. "W—what was that for?"

 _Unnecessary feelings,_ he wants to say, but it's completely irrational. _You're criminal,_ but he doesn't have the right — he was utterly complicit and the more wrong for it. Finally, he withdraws his fingers and admits, "I was hoping to come up with an excuse while doing that… I didn't."

To his surprise, Wright laughs, short and breathless but with genuine mirth, so Miles runs with it.

"Please excuse my unprofessionalism, Mr. Wright." He offers an exaggerated bow. "I simply couldn't help myself."

"Phoenix," the other corrects, shaking his head and chuckling with palpable affection. "Call me Phoenix. And you're perfect, Miles. Completely and unbelievably perfect."

But now Miles is staring at his gloved fingers, the ones that had been inside the other man, and there's… nothing out of the ordinary.

"While we're on the subject of unprofessionalism," Phoenix continues almost conversationally, "I have a confession."

Right… "You're not sick," Miles surmises.

"No," he agrees, looking up with unmistakable fondness. "But I'm terribly lactose intolerant, and I drank a large milkshake at dinner because I desperately wanted today and tomorrow off work."

"Why?"

Phoenix grins, head resting on folded arms. "They're auditioning for my dream role tomorrow. I deliberately chose a clinic I've never been to, so they wouldn't have my medical history on file. But what I'm saying is… you can do whatever it is you're thinking about."

"W—what makes you think I'm thinking about— Ahh!"

Phoenix is stroking his long-neglected erection languidly. "Let me take care of you, Miles. How do you want me?" The words send a shiver down his spine. "Like this? Kneeling on the floor to s— Haahh!"

Miles is already kneeling on the step, ignoring the chemical taste as he licks in to tug at the ring of muscle. Slipping out, he traces the rim with the tip of his tongue, then dips back in again, and Phoenix all but sobs into the pillow he's clutching to his face. Past the gel, he can taste _Phoenix_ , and the man is fluttering, trembling for him as Miles kisses him, much like Phoenix kissed him earlier, exploring with his tongue, and Phoenix clenches around him with a desperate cry when he sucks on it — hot and tight and Miles can't wait a second longer. He stands and slicks himself up with another pump of lubricant before plunging in, and Phoenix groans deeply into the pillow. In some fiendish feat of stamina, Phoenix is already hard again, and Miles doesn't think he'll last.

"T—take off the glove," Phoenix gasps, and Miles obligingly tosses it into the bin before resuming.

Phoenix thrusts into his fist, so he moves, and it takes maybe three or four thrusts before Miles sees stars, leaving a mark where he was mouthing at Phoenix's shoulder.

He's been so close for so long, and Phoenix feels amazing.

Miles tugs the gown out of the way to pepper the back of the man's neck with kisses, finds Phoenix just mumbling his name again and again, looking utterly debauched. He shifts, slipping out, and Phoenix makes a sound that might be pain.

"Hey, a—are you all right?"

The only response is incoherent, so he checks Phoenix's vitals — nothing worrying. It's probably exhaustion, overstimulation.

He fixes his clothes, then rearranges the gown on Phoenix before lifting the other man fully onto the examination table. Then he quickly cleans all signs of their activities off the floor and furniture before attempting to rouse Phoenix.

"Phoenix, you can't sleep here. There are other patients waiting." It hasn't actually been that long, but he's worried that people will suspect.

Phoenix smiles, though, and doesn't wince when Miles wipes him clean. "You've ruined me, Miles." He sits up to press his lips lightly to Miles' again. "Promise you'll call me."

"Promise you won't come back as a patient and get my license revoked."

Phoenix giggles. "Pinky swear?"

Miles stares at the other's extended little finger, feeling foolish, but caves in and hooks his own around it.

Grinning widely, Phoenix hugs him and says, "I'll get changed."

Miles nods and returns to his desk to finish up the paperwork.

"So… about that MC…" Phoenix comes over, back in his hoodie and jeans.

"Two days. Food poisoning." He holds it out.

"Three," Phoenix presses, leaning in.

They stare each other down. And Miles knows, he _knows_ Phoenix has all the leverage here, but…

"Only if day three is date night." He won't use it.

Phoenix lights up. "Deal."

He amends the number, and their fingers brush as Phoenix takes the piece of paper.

"Say." A thought occurs to Miles as Phoenix turns to leave. "What auditions are you going for tomorrow?" _What is this dream role that you'd make yourself sick just for a shot at?_ He should learn more about his soon-to-be partner.

Phoenix's face colors. "You'll laugh at me."

"I won't."

"You will."

Miles raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. "Try me."

Phoenix takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, bracing himself. "The Steel Samurai."

For a moment, it's as if time itself has stopped. Then he hears Miles stand.

"Phoenix Wright."

Blue eyes fly open, then fall on the figurine in a display case inside the cabinet Miles just opened.

"I will kill you if you don't land that role."


	7. More Than Words

**Prompt:** Dom!Miles using a collar, leash and possibly ears/tail on Sub!Phoenix. Everything is consensual, both are into it like you wouldn't believe. Basically Miles dominating the hell out of a compliant, moaning Phoenix. I'd love a mixture of sweet, sensuality and harsh touches. Bonus: Phoenix misbehaving on purpose for punishment (e.g. spankings).

Sequel to **The Internet Is Really, Really Great** (Chapter 9)

* * *

 **More Than Words**

"Miles…? Master?"

Even if his spouse's voice didn't rouse Miles Edgeworth, the warm rush of pleasure certainly would. Grey eyes blink open to fall on the man pleasuring him with that talented, _talented_ mouth, and he sinks deeper into the mattress with a groan. Phoenix Wright, wearing nothing but those black brainwave cat ears Larry had gotten them as a joke wedding gift with the leather collar, the cat paw mittens and socks, and the fluffy black cat's tail butt plug they'd bought last weekend, only runs his "paws" up Miles' thighs and swirls his tongue around Miles' burgeoning erection before swallowing him all the way, and by God does Phoenix have his full attention now.

Reluctantly, Miles lifts his legs to gently push Phoenix's shoulders back with his feet, and Phoenix doesn't resist, lets Miles' cock slip free of his mouth with an obscene wet pop, and all right, Miles was wrong. Phoenix is also wearing his nipple clamps, the blue crystal bird-shaped pendant on the fine silver chain between them adorning his chest prettily as it slides from side to side with his every move, and the cock rings adorned with bells — one ring at the base and another just below the head. The steel leash is already attached to the collar, too, trailing down his back to the bed within easy reach. The bells tinkle softly as he shifts backwards to sit on his haunches, and Miles raises an eyebrow — Phoenix is almost fully erect already.

Miles suspects it might have to do with inserting the tail plug with the nipple clamps on, but that usually only gets Phoenix to half mast, and Phoenix has only just started blowing him, so it can't be that either.

"You played with yourself, didn't you?"

The ears flop as Phoenix looks down in guilt and shame.

In a quick motion, Miles snags the leash and yanks sharply. With a yelp, Phoenix falls onto his side, coughing as the bells jingle, and Miles shifts closer to look him sternly in the eyes.

"You know very well you're not supposed to do that unless I tell you to, Phoenix," he chides patiently.

His lover nods once, letting out an apologetic mew.

"So, earlier, that was you trying to apologize?"

Phoenix nods more vigorously with a pleading whine.

Miles shakes his head and makes a show of inspecting all the accessories. "What kind of apology is it, when you've gotten yourself all excited down here," he brushes his hand over the other's cock, and the bells jingle as Phoenix reflexively thrusts up into his hand, "but neglected to tighten these?" He tugs lightly on the crystal pendant and gets a gasp in response.

Slowly, Miles tightens the clamps, bells tinkling as Phoenix squirms beneath him, until Phoenix whimpers. The ears are still perked though, so he's definitely into it.

Miles rolls out of bed, fixing his pajamas. "Hmph. I'm disappointed in you, Phoenix…" He walks away, and Phoenix crawls after him, as he continues, "Touching yourself without permission like that after you swore you belonged completely to me. I believe a good lashing is in order. Nothing like the riding crop to make you behave—"

"Mng!" Phoenix lunges at him, clings tightly to his thighs to keep him from walking, blue eyes wide with terror as he shakes his head frantically and his cat ears twitching in agitation. "Meow… meow…!" Phoenix begs desperately, tearing up even, and Miles has to admit that the best part of role-playing is how good of an actor his partner really is.

He yanks the leash again, dragging Phoenix away from him to fall to the floor. Undeterred, Phoenix rolls over to paw at his feet, mewing pitifully and kissing his knees.

Miles crosses his arms. "No? You're going to apologize properly then?"

Phoenix nods, nuzzling his thigh, cat ears drooping dismally.

Sighing, Miles steps back and to the left. "Come here."

Phoenix obediently crawls over, bells tinkling and ears attentively upright.

"You know what to do."

Without hesitation, Phoenix prostrates, only his ass in the air, and his Master steps around him, hands skimming over sensitized skin, to let him have full view of the full-length mirror behind. Then Miles crouches at his side to slide his hand into Phoenix's hair and gently guide his chin up to look.

"Look at you, so beautiful like this."

Miles drops a kiss on one cheek and scratches Phoenix's chin, rubbing his scalp. His spouse purrs, smiling, as he trails his hand down Phoenix's neck, traces the ridges of his partner's spine, and the bells tinkle softly when he reaches the turn of Phoenix's hip.

"You like that?"

Phoenix purrs again, cat ears wiggling slowly.

"Show me."

And this isn't the first time Miles has seen it, but it's still fascinating to watch the tail wag slightly. Phoenix makes a tiny sound in the back of his throat as the bells tinkle again — the tail movement is accomplished by controlling the pelvic muscles, and every time he moves it, the plug inside rubs up against his prostate. In this position, the furry tail also brushes tantalisingly against his cock, perineum and inner thighs — all teasing, but never enough, nothing like his Master.

His Master who undresses quickly and moves to sit before him with legs splayed wide, so Miles can touch himself in full view. Miles is beautiful, down to his cock, and Phoenix all but drools as those long, slender fingers caress the rosy organ he'd barely gotten a taste of before he was denied.

Miles moans, and it goes straight to Phoenix's cock. The bells tinkle as his erection strains against the rings, and he squirms closer, reaching out to touch.

But Miles slaps his hands away. "Did I say you could touch? This is your punishment, Phoenix."

He crawls over to pin Phoenix's hands behind his back, and Phoenix keens longingly at the tantalising scent of his Master's arousal over him even as Miles winds the long chain of the leash around his wrists to keep them behind his back, then around his ankles as well.

Satisfied, Miles returns to his earlier position and strokes himself again with a smirk. "Hands off and watch, Phoenix. If you're going to play with yourself, then you're going to watch me come without you… ahh…!"

Phoenix moans, clenching helplessly around the plug, and the bells tinkle softly as his cock twitches — Miles looks so erotic like this, head thrown back as he touches himself with both hands, one fisting his gorgeous cock and the other fondling his sacs, perhaps teasing behind them as well. When Miles cries out again, Phoenix shifts closer to inhale the scent of him, and it sends a shiver down his spine.

Then Miles is shifting forward onto his knees above Phoenix's head, one hand gripping Phoenix's rump for balance. "Did you think I needed your apology, Phoenix? I don't have to forgive you. Ngh… Haahh!"

Hot seed splatters over his back, and Phoenix squeezes his eyes shut as his own cock drips with yearning. He sobs miserably, ears drooping — he could have had that delicious warmth inside him, but no, he'd made his Master mad, and his Master didn't need him anymore.

But then Miles shifts back and offers him a few drops on his fingers. Brightening, Phoenix's cat ears perk up as he licks them clean, and his Master smiles, running his clean hand fondly through soft, black spikes — Miles is always extra affectionate right after he orgasms, so Phoenix loves making him come.

Miles stands then, circling around behind him to caress his rump with both hands, and Phoenix purrs as he squeezes with appreciation.

Then he smacks it. Hard.

Phoenix jumps, a small sound of pain slipping out as the impact reverberates off the walls and the metal of the nipple clamps scrape audibly over the floor.

"Tsk tsk, you thought this would cut it?" Miles waves his finger imperiously as he shakes his head. "Bad Phoenix, naughty Phoenix," he intones reproachfully as he spanks Phoenix again and again. Fair skin reddens beautifully as the sharp slaps resound in the room with the bells' harsh jangling for accompaniment. "Why did you have to make this so difficult?"

Blue eyes are damp, and Phoenix is biting his lip to stay silent, ears flopped miserably. Miles shakes his head and pulls his pajama pants back on before swatting the tail with a sigh.

"I'm going to have a cup of tea. You stay here and reflect on your behavior." Phoenix lets out a dismal whine, but doesn't move — he doesn't want to displease his Master further. Miles pauses at the door. "Oh, and when I get back?" Blue eyes meet grey in the mirror, cat ears perking up. "You'd better be eager to make up for the earlier disappointment."

It's not mere pretense though — Miles never misses his morning tea. So he heads languidly down to the kitchen and sets the kettle to boil. As he's waiting, he notices a covered plate by the tea set — it's an omelet, still slightly warm. If the damp dishes on the drying rack are anything to go by, Phoenix has already eaten, so…

He digs in as he steeps his dà hóng páo, and it's fluffy with bits of bacon, ham, onions, mushrooms and spinach, flavored with a hint of cheese and pepper, just the way he likes it. Miles has always been a foodie, and he blames growing up with professional chefs in the von Karma household for both that and his inability to make all but the simplest of dishes. Phoenix, on the other hand, doesn't know any fancy, gourmet foods, but whatever he does know how to cook, he cooks very well, and omelets are no exception.

Miles doesn't know what, if anything at all, he has done right in his life. The truth is, he barely deserved Phoenix as a friend, but even several lifetimes of opportunities might not suffice to make him worthy of the unconditional and boundless love and affection that Phoenix spoils him with on a daily basis.

He doesn't have any basis for comparison in saying that his spouse is a great lover, but Phoenix is certainly adventurous and ready to try just about anything at least once. And once he'd realized the stability and control that Miles craved in a life spent careening through forces majeures, he'd only been too eager to offer it the only way he knew how — by letting Miles dictate all the rules in their private life.

And yet, paradoxically, submission gave Phoenix power — knowing that, across the courtroom, there was a lock under his rival's pants that only he had the key to was enough to make Miles' knees go weak even while Phoenix was the one kneeling on the floor, and the more control Miles had over Phoenix, the less he had over himself. Like an addiction, a taste never took the edges off, only made them sharper.

When Miles returns to the bedroom after washing his plate and setting his teapot aside for a second steep later, Phoenix is squirming on the floor, groaning, where Miles left him earlier, the tail swishing and the bells jingling. The ears perk up and wiggle atop Phoenix's head when Miles steps closer and moves the tail aside to see the precum dripping down Phoenix's abs and thighs — he loves how exposed Phoenix is in this position, and his throat is parched all over again. Even his silk pajama pants are uncomfortably tight and sticky already.

Palming the curve of Phoenix's rear, Miles murmurs, "That's a good boy. See?" He presses a kiss to Phoenix's perineum, sucking a mark into sensitive flesh, and his partner gasps. "Not so fun being all hard like this from the beginning, is it?" He fondles the other's dripping erection, feather light, and the bells tinkle as Phoenix tries to press into his hand for more friction. "You just end up waiting longer like this."

He plays with the tail, making the plug move around inside, and Phoenix moans, writhing. The nipple clamps scrape over the floor again, and Phoenix trembles as his most sensitive places are teased, more precum leaking from his painfully hard cock. His skin glistens with sweat as he keens desperately, and blue eyes are blown with lust and need when he looks in the mirror. The clamps have been on for a long time, so Miles pulls Phoenix upright by the leash and begins to remove them, and Phoenix whimpers as circulation returns to those tender nubs. He turns Phoenix around to face him and gently swirls his tongue around a nipple as he tugs lightly on the tail and lets go, testing the stretch — Phoenix inhales sharply through his teeth, bells jingling as his hips twitch.

Miles could drive Phoenix crazy just like this, keeping him on the edge with constant too-gentle touches, but "Have you learned your lesson?" Miles murmurs into his skin, voice rough with desire. He needs Phoenix, too, more than words can express — gorgeous, giving and trusting Phoenix who could stop whenever he desired or seize the upper hand, but who never hesitated in his surrender.

Phoenix nods earnestly, leaning forward to nuzzle Miles' neck with a plaintive mew.

"Ready to apologize properly now?"

Again, Phoenix nods, trailing kisses along his jawline, and Miles unwinds the leash chain to unbind the other's arms and legs. Immediately, Phoenix paws at the waistband of his pants. "Meow?" At his nod, Phoenix tugs them down, then licks his lips hungrily at the sight of Miles' freed erection, ears and tail twitching.

"Come here then." Miles leads Phoenix back to the bed and sits on the edge, legs splayed. "Show me you're sorry, Phoenix. Make it up to me."

And he expects Phoenix to dive right in, but his lover drops to kiss the top of his right foot instead, and the breath hitches in Miles' throat. Their eyes meet as Phoenix eagerly licks a stripe up Miles' leg from his ankle, and Miles has to force himself to breathe when lightheadedness sets in.

Trust Phoenix to take it to the next level, to ruin Miles a little more every time.

"Oh, you like that?"

Phoenix giggles, mews, then playfully rolls over to lick up his left leg too, blue eyes coy. Then his paws are on Miles' knees, and he's nipping and licking his way in, and Miles doesn't think he'll last much longer when Phoenix's lips finally close around his cock again. He can't help thrusting into tight, wet heat, but although Phoenix's eyes tear up as he almost chokes, Miles can hear the snap of Phoenix's hips in the tinkling of the bells.

He has to pull Phoenix away — he wants more, and he can't wait any longer. Phoenix purrs as Miles curls his fingers under the other's chin, climbs up into his lap at the barest hint of pressure and loops his arms adoringly around Miles' neck as a lock of spiky black hair is tucked behind his ear. He bites his lip when Miles flicks a thumb over his nipple, gasps when he's scooped up into a tight embrace.

"Ride me," Miles whispers huskily with a nip at his earlobe, and his pulse quickens, hammering under the heat of his Master's palm pressed to his back. "You wouldn't dare come before me, would you?"

He shakes his head vigorously, licks up the side of Miles' neck to kiss the pulse point behind Miles' ear. He won't come unless his Master commands it, no. He's been naughty enough today already. But then Miles shifts back on the bed, pulls the tail plug out with agonising slowness, and Phoenix feels that familiar tension coiling up — he's already so close; he really hopes he can keep his word. He lets out a soft cry as the plug comes free with an obscene squelch and whines at the sudden emptiness.

"Shh…" Miles hushes him while reaching for the lube. "You can be patient for me, can't you?"

He nods and mews, hugging Miles tightly and peppering that sensitive neck with kisses. He can do anything, anything at all, for his Master. Then the tip of his Master's cock presses into him, and Phoenix bites back a cry, focuses on not coming just from this. He's glad for the pain when it comes —it takes the edge off— as he's stretched wider still, but then there's the heat, the pressure and the fullness as Miles slides in all the way, and Phoenix knows he'll be gone almost as soon as they start moving. He digs his fingers into his inner thigh as hard as he can through the mittens, trying to pull back further from the edge with the pain.

"You're clenching so tightly around me… You really need to come, don't you?"

Phoenix nods and hopes his meow sounds as apologetic as he feels — he doesn't want to disappoint Miles again.

But Miles only smiles. "Kiss me."

Phoenix doesn't hesitate — he presses his lips to Miles', licks into his Master's mouth and twines their tongues as he lifts his hips and sinks down again to the telltale jingle of the bells. They moan as one, and the pressure builds as they continue, Miles' hands gripping his hips to help. He's not sure which one of them is trembling, but then Miles suddenly flips them over, and it's reflex to wrap his arms and legs around Miles as his Master thrusts harder into him, finds that perfect angle and—

"Ahh, Miles, _Miles,_ ah-aahhh!"

Miles comes with a shout, seeing stars for the second time that day. No matter what role play they're doing, no matter how deeply in character Phoenix had been only seconds before, Phoenix always, _always_ screams Miles' name when he comes, and Miles wouldn't change such an endearing, gratifying habit for the world.

He cradles Phoenix close, milks him through his orgasm and plunders his slack mouth lovingly. And when the aftershocks cease, he whispers, "I love you, Phoenix," for the first time because it's never felt more right.

Beneath him, Phoenix lights up with happy surprise and breaks into a glowing smile. "Happy Anniversary, Miles."


	8. Miles To Go (Before I Sleep)

**Prompt:** Edgeworth is a high in demand rent boy, working in the Von Karma's brothel, being taught the best ways to observe ones kinks and pleasure them. Being popular with both men and women, Edgeworth just sees this as a job like any other that needs to be done to get by though he does make a comfortable living out of it.

Phoenix being down on his luck and having a bad day, is tricked by Larry into hiring Edgworth whose an expert in 'cheering up', not knowing what he's gotten himself into until it's too late.

Phoenix tries to refuses but Edgeworth insists it's all been paid for and this is nothing he's not done hundred times before. Phoenix gives in but instead of being fucked and played with as Edgeworth expects, he's instead kissed tenderly and touched as if he's something precious.

This is all to new for him, being touched and kissed as if he was a virgin - in fact Phoenix made him feel more than a virgin than his actual first time. He even feels more with Phoenix being so gentle to him, he finds himself longing for this. Longing for Phoenix.

This is the first time someone made love to him and hopes for Phoenix to become a regular client. He doesn't since he can't afford it, but it doesn't stop Phoenix from visiting him - much to Edgeworth's delight - and asking if they can go out for coffee.

* * *

 **Miles To Go (Before I Sleep)**

Two young men weaved through crowded night streets, red-faced and off-balance. The brunet's arm was slung over his blond friend's shoulders, and it was obvious from his crumpling posture that he was the far more intoxicated of the two.

"I—it can't be… t—true… Must be… must be f—fake," he mumbles, and the blond catches him as he almost topples to the side, holding him more securely.

"C'mon, Nick, it's just round the corner now," urged the other.

"Dollie… my D—Dollie…"

"Duuude, I can't believe I'm saying this, but you need to quit this chick. I mean, I'm still kinda broken up that my Mel-mel left me, but she didn't want me dead, man."

Showing no sign of having heard anything, Nick only continued mumbling, "My… dear… Dollie…" over and over.

"Aww, man…" Larry Butz runs a hand through his hair as he lets them into their apartment building. "She got you good."

Clearly, his best friend needed an intervention yesterday.

* * *

Phoenix Wright spins the pen in his hand idly, staring up at the ceiling from where he's lying on his back in his double bed. He still couldn't believe what happened at the trial — the Dollie he'd seen there was nothing like the Dollie he'd known. Had she truly meant to poison him? But there was proof. They'd gotten the necklace out of him at the hospital after the trial, and it was just as Miss Fey said — there were traces of poison inside, the same type they found in his bottle of Coldkiller X.

He thought— He'd believed she loved him, too.

The sound of the doorbell has him wiping his eyes and rolling out of bed. Larry probably has his headphones on and wouldn't hear it. Peering out the peephole, he finds the most gorgeous man he's ever seen in person staring intently at a small piece of paper in slender fingers with manicured nails. Phoenix opens the door to the scent of fine cologne and a full view of the other's perfect figure in what must be a bespoke set of wine red dress shirt and black slacks.

"Good evening. Is this the residence of Mr. Phoenix Wright?"

The crisply pronounced words in that smooth baritone reminds Phoenix that he'd forgotten to speak, and he has to swallow to moisten his dry mouth and throat. "Uh, yes? Yes. Um, I—I'm Phoenix Wright. W—what can I do for you?"

"Ah, wonderful." The man smiles, slipping the piece of paper into his pocket. "A Mr. Larry Butz hired me to escort you for the night, Mr. Wright, and I am delighted to make your acquaintance," he continues with an elegant bow, but Phoenix's brain has ground to an abrupt halt.

(WH—WHAAAAT?! Larry, I'm gonna—) "Ah… S—sorry." He forces an awkward smile. "Could you uh… wait a couple of minutes?"

"Certainly, Mr. Wright. Whatever you need."

Carefully and gently closing the door with great effort, he whirls around to burst into Larry's room. "Larry, what the heck is the meaning of this?!"

"Wha—wha?" His best friend pulls off the headphones. "Huh? What, man? Meaning of what?"

"Th—there's a man outside, claiming you hired him to 'escort' me for the night!" he wails with finger quotes.

"Oh!" Larry beams. "Isn't he exactly your type?"

"Yes! No, wait! That's—"

"C'mon, Nick, I've seen your porn collection! You can't lie to me!"

"Wh— That's not the point! Why did you—" Phoenix flails helplessly and settles for pointing at the door, distraught.

Larry stands and claps him on the shoulders. "Dude, you've been moping in your room like your life is over for… what, a week now? Go out and have some fun, man; forget all about that chick."

"What?! Larry! I can't j—"

"Sure you can. Don'tcha know, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else?" The blond gives him a wink and a thumbs up as he stares, gobsmacked.

"T—th—that's— That's not how it works!" (A—and maybe that's why you keep getting dumped!)

"Huh? You've tried?"

Phoenix slumps. "W—well, n—no, but—!"

"Aww, c'mon, man… Don't be like that! Listen." Larry slings an arm around his shoulders. "I spent all the dough I'd saved up for Melanie's next date on this —too bad she left, huh— so are you going to trample all over my gift and my feelings, Nick? Are you?! Huuuh?! How do you call yourself a friend, Nick?! How?!" It's Larry's turn to wail, stomping his foot dramatically. "I just wanted to cheer you up! 'Cause you're always the one dealing with my breakup woes, man!"

"Oo—oof!" (Well, I guess there's no sense in arguing with Larry now, if he's already paid…) "Okay! Fine! All right! I'll go!"

Larry claps his hands and goes right back to beaming.

(I— I fell for it. Hook, line and sinker. Augh…)

"Awesome! There's a hotel around the block, nothing fancy but nothing sleazy either. Well, go, shoo, don't keep the hunk waiting! I hear he's super popular. Tonight's the only full night slot he's got open for the month!" He waggles his eyebrows, then gets back to the dating sites on his computer. "Tell me how it goes!"

Phoenix sighs as he goes to quickly change into something more presentable — his best pair of jeans and a simple blue sweater. He doesn't have anything that wouldn't look underdressed beside that gorgeous "escort" outside anyway. Winding a navy and white argyle scarf around his neck, he joins the man in the hallway.

"I'm sorry for the long wait."

"Not at all." Now that he's looking at the other, he realizes that the other's hair is grey, not black, and his sharp eyes are the same color… and looking expectantly at him.

"Uh… What do we do now?" (H—he's so handsome…)

"Well, whatever you like, Mr. Wright. I'm all yours tonight."

(Ugh… No… This isn't…) Phoenix sighs, slumping. "I—I had no— This wasn't my idea. I don't know what to do. I've never done anything like this. It's like a date or a hookup, only not, and kinda like getting a haircut, all at the same time."

"A—a haircut, Mr. Wright?" the man echoes, hastily schooling indignation into —the more polite— confusion.

"Uh, you know…" Phoenix scratches the back of his head with a sheepish laugh. "The part where you'll do me any way I want…?" (W—wow, that awkward silence. Good job, Phoenix. You really are hopeless. No wonder Dollie—) "S—sorry. What do I call you?" He _really_ doesn't want to go down that train of thought right now.

"Miles Edgeworth." He offers Phoenix a business card out of his shirt pocket.

It has his name and number printed in elegant black type on pearlescent card stock under a more embellished heading — "Your Perfect Night Agency," Phoenix reads aloud. The word "Agency" is on a second line, centered under "Perfect" and both in gold leaf, giving the impression that Your Night is distinctly extraneous to this Perfect Agency with its address on the back.

"Well, it's as it says, Mr. Wright." Miles inclines his head at the card. "And surely your perfect night does not entail standing outside the door of your apartment till morning dawns, so perhaps you'd like to go somewhere?"

"U—um…" He hurriedly shoves his hands, and the card, into his pockets. "Larry says there's a decent hotel just around the block, but I don't know what he defines as decent, so maybe we can have a look and decide again there?"

"Absolutely, Mr. Wright." Gracefully, he steps aside, picks up a classy metal briefcase Phoenix hadn't noticed earlier and extends his arm to indicate, "After you."

"P—please, call me Phoenix." The formality feels awkward, and it's only adding to the surrealism of the situation.

"Of course, as you wish."

When they exit into the night, the streets are quiet. It's a weekday, and this neighborhood is a fair distance from the primary nightlife district in the area. As they walk in silence with Phoenix leading the way, a chill wind blows, and he's glad he decided to wear the sweater tonight.

Next to him, though, Miles shivers, and Phoenix stops to remove his scarf, wondering why Miles hadn't thought to wear anything warmer.

"I don't know how much this will help," he says, winding it around the other's neck, "but even if we turned back, I don't have a jacket that will fit you."

Miles is only a little taller, but his shoulders are broader, and… He looks really good with a scarf around his neck, like he was meant to accessorize there. Looking up at the man again under the light of the nearby street lamp, Phoenix is certain now that Miles is completely out of his league. With his sharp features, flawless fair skin, soft kissable lips and fit physique, it's no wonder he's in such high demand — he's a living, breathing media ideal. He even talks and dresses like he's used to a much higher class of clientele.

(Well, considering how much Larry usually spends on his dates…) Larry always dates models, and every dime he earns from his various jobs that doesn't go into absolute necessities, like rent and food, goes into lavish dates with these models in a —thus far futile— effort to keep them.

Those beautiful grey eyes are wide with shock though, and suddenly, Phoenix wonders if he's done something presumptuous or inappropriate.

"I— I'm sorry. Was I not supposed to do that?"

Miles starts, but quickly recovers. "N—no! Not at all! I mean—" Calm now, he smiles and covers one of Phoenix's hands that are still holding the ends of the scarf with his own. "Your… concern is… touching. Thank you, M—Phoenix."

(D—does that mean that his clients don't normally care if he's cold?) But it doesn't seem appropriate to ask, so "It's not much further now," he says, leading Miles by the hand holding his own. "I hope Larry's definition of decent isn't completely warped, so we can go inside where it's warm."

As it turns out, the hotel is, in fact, perfectly decent. A simple, working class affair, but clean, comfortable and functional with crisp white sheets and birch wood furniture. Miles' usual clients prefer swankier establishments, of course —he's rarely gone below four stars— but he can't fault the place, especially at the price he paid for the night.

In truth, he'd been surprised to receive the address for this appointment —he's never met a client outside the upper class neighborhoods before— and, from the other's age and the school shirt he'd been wearing when he answered the door earlier, Phoenix Wright is most likely a student at Ivy University; ergo broke. Larry Butz is clearly his flatmate, most likely another student, albeit somewhat less broke if he's hiring Miles for his friend here.

His friend who is nervously pottering about with the kettle and the provided sachets of instant coffee and thoughtfully asking Miles if he'd like anything to drink.

Miles removes his shoes and socks, then sets his briefcase full of sex toys down on the provided luggage shelf. "Why don't you go get comfortable?" he suggests, joining Phoenix at the mini bar. "Let me take care of this." He takes the kettle from unresisting hands. "I would be flabbergasted were I not far more experienced at teabagging than you." His well-practiced flirty glance goes unnoticed as the other merely nods and turns away — the innuendo is either lost on him or poorly received, and Miles has his money on oblivious.

Considering Phoenix's reaction to the night thus far, Miles cannot fathom why his friend thought hiring a rent boy for him was a good idea.

Of the available teabag selection, plain green tea seems like the safest choice, so… he freezes at the sound of the shower running. Is the man stalling to feel less awkward, or does he feel obligated to clean up for Miles?

It's oddly charming, either way. Like the scarf still wound around his neck that smells of cheap fabric softener, or the offer to make him tea. He can even let the earlier tasteless comparison to a haircut slide.

While waiting for the water to boil, he undresses — folds the scarf and places it neatly by Phoenix's pile of clothes on the desk, takes the condoms and lubricant out of his briefcase and slips them under the pillow on the far side of the bed, and folds his own clothes in a neat stack atop the briefcase. He doubts he'll be using anything else in it tonight.

He's just finished making Phoenix's coffee and his own green tea when the other steps out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist, and—

Phoenix is hardly unattractive. He certainly doesn't look like he'd need to pay for sex. He catches Miles staring, realizes Miles is wearing nothing but a black silk thong and blushes, averting blue eyes, and Miles feels a twinge of genuine arousal. After all these years, Miles can get it up for virtually anybody —he's a professional, after all— but he's also learned to appreciate the clients for whom desire comes easily, if not quite naturally, and he doesn't think he'll have any problems wanting to please Phoenix.

Assuming Phoenix wants to be pleased at all. The man won't even look at him more than is strictly necessary.

"Am I not to your liking, Phoenix?" he asks directly as he approaches with the steaming coffee. "Seeing as I was selected for you by someone else, it would be perfectly understandable if I were not your type."

"What? No! No, you're gorgeous! I— I think— Under different circumstances, maybe— Maybe I'd be falling over myself to ask you out! But…"

"But…?" he presses, holding out the cup and saucer.

"But this is weird. And awkward. And… isn't it… I don't know, kinda illegal?" Phoenix takes the coffee, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"You mean prostitution?"

Miles fetches his tea before sitting beside Phoenix — as long as physical attraction isn't the problem, Miles is confident Phoenix can be persuaded. After all, his boss and mentor, Mr. Manfred von Karma, wouldn't accept anything less than perfection, and he will have much to answer for if he doesn't make a repeat customer out of Phoenix Wright tonight.

The other nods into his coffee cup.

"It is," Miles agrees, sipping his tea. "However, the legal definition of prostitution is the sale of the act of coitus. Ergo, unless you possess a vagina under that towel, nothing we do tonight would be deemed by the law to be prostitution."

"O—oh." Phoenix downs the rest of his coffee in one gulp.

Miles takes the cup from unresisting fingers. "Do you have any other concerns? I assure you that I am perfectly clean, and nothing you might find pleasurable would be outrageous to me. All but the most exceptional requests are covered in the fee your friend paid, so please relax and let me take care of you till nine in the morning." If anything, Phoenix only looks more discomfited as Miles goes to set the cups aside, so he decides to try the tack that worked earlier again. "Phoenix." He takes Phoenix's hands and leans in, trying for a look of hurt and insecurity when blue eyes snap to his own. "Are you truly so resistant to my charms, or am I not trying hard enough?" He withdraws and turns away before Phoenix can call his bluff to grip his elbow with a protective arm around himself. "If I am losing my touch… no, I don't know what else I could do."

"M—Miles…" From the conflicted sound of Phoenix's voice, it appears that this approach is effective.

"You say you find me attractive," he continues, eyes trained on the dark green carpet — now to drive the nail into the coffin, "yet you avoid even looking at me. I can only think—"

"No, no!" Phoenix takes him by the elbows. "You're beautiful! It's the truth!"

"Then show me." He moves quickly, so his hands are on bare hips and his lips a mere hair's breadth away from Phoenix's.

For one pregnant moment, there's nothing but the sound of their quick, shallow breaths hanging between them, and Miles worries the other will see through this and change his mind. But then Phoenix closes the rest of the distance between them and—

It's chaste, tender.

He has to chase it as Phoenix pulls back, reach a hand up to support the back of the other's neck while silently asking to be let in, before Phoenix parts his lips, closing his eyes.

Miles seizes his chance, sliding his tongue sensually along the inside of Phoenix's bottom lip before twining it with Phoenix's as he continues to brush their lips together. One of Phoenix's hands rises to cup his cheek as the other tilts his head back and starts to respond, tongue sliding along Miles' to tease at his lips. He invites Phoenix in, wrapping his arm around Phoenix to lower him to the bed. The other's arms fly to Miles' shoulders, clinging to him as they continue kissing, and it isn't until he tugs fabric out of the way to rock his hips into Phoenix's that the other gasps, blue eyes flying open.

Before Phoenix can protest, he does it again, caressing the other's lower lip with his thumb and watching the pupils dilate with lust in those pretty blue eyes as he feels Phoenix respond. Shifting a bit, he keeps rolling his hips, only now the pressure is on his ass and perineum, and sighs with genuine pleasure.

This seems to do it for Phoenix because Miles is guided into another kiss, and the other's hands card through his hair, stroke down his neck and trace the ridges of his spine. Then they're sliding over his skin to the front, and Miles doesn't hide the jerk of his hips when they sweep over his nipples.

"Don't these hurt?" Phoenix asks between kisses, tracing his gunmetal black nipple rings, featherlight, with his fingertips.

That's probably what many people think, even though they find it sexy. Perhaps that's why most of his clients never think to touch him there — he's usually the one lavishing attention on the breasts and nipples of his female clients. But they're the second most erogenous part of his body, and the piercings keep them erect and sensitive, so he's always careful what undershirts he wears to hide and protect them. Even this gentle touch seems to go straight down.

"No. The opposite, actually."

"Oh… They're pretty." To his surprise, Phoenix rolls them over and begins to pepper his neck with kisses as his fingers play with the rings. "Good?"

"Hngh, y—yes," Miles gasps, tilting his head back to offer better access, hips jerking as the rings are slid around and thumbs skim the sensitive tips. The other's lips trail down his chest to take one hand's place on a nipple, and Miles cries out as a warm tongue swirls wetly around one while two fingers tease the other nub whilst gently tugging its ring. Phoenix's free hand finds his to lace their fingers, and his hand tightens on Phoenix's as his toes curl. "Ah… Phoenix…" He hasn't been so close so quickly since his first time, and he's the one that should be pleasuring his client. "Tell me," he asks breathlessly, "what do you like?"

The head of spiky black hair lifts. "Seeing you like this." Phoenix smiles wryly, blue eyes sad. "It's the only thing I know for sure you're not faking." One hand drops to caress the evidence —he's rock hard and dripping— and Miles bites back a whimper.

There's something foolishly heartbreaking about looking for something real in a night of paid pleasure, but Miles doesn't call Phoenix a fool. From a business perspective, in love is exactly where he wants every client to be. And he knows dozens of rehearsed lines for this, but somehow, the words won't come. That may be for the best, though. It's his job to be anything his clients want him to be, but he's certain now that Phoenix doesn't want any illusions.

So instead, he says, "Phoenix, I met you for the first time barely an hour ago. Even if this wasn't a job, I don't know enough to love you. However, that doesn't mean I cannot enjoy what we have tonight. I have regular clients, and while it isn't love, our relationship is no less real than any other, merely different. Do you understand, Phoenix?" He traces the other's cheekbone with his fingertips. "We both know what this is, but that doesn't make it a lie."

The other nods and resumes playing with Miles' nipples, switching the places of his mouth and fingers, and Miles can't withhold his keen of pleasure as Phoenix sucks on them.

"Phoenix, I'm almost— ahh!"

A pause in his ministrations. "Yeah, I want to see."

"Ngh… Wh—what about you?"

Phoenix grins, teasing. "Surely a great professional like yourself can go more than once a night…?"

"Hah, ngh… Ch—challenge accepted." Miles lets go, but it's not enough — Phoenix is being too gentle. "Harder," he gasps, writhing. "B—bite a li—haAHH!"

This is only his second nipple orgasm —the first was by accident, when he made a client out of his piercer by discovering that he could— but it's the same full-body flood of rapture that feels like seeing proverbial stars.

When Miles opens his eyes, Phoenix is staring at him, transfixed. "W—wow… Th—that was… really hot… No wonder you're so popular."

And he's not sure why that makes his cheeks blaze. He's done far lewder, more embarrassing things for clients that would make most decent people blush without any sense of shame, and yet, he can't take this compliment from Phoenix.

"You're not like any other client."

The other chuckles wryly. "I bet you say that to every client."

Miles shakes his head. "Not all want to hear such words."

"So, to all the ones that do then."

Rolling them onto their sides, he cups Phoenix's cheek with his free hand and presses a soft kiss to Phoenix's mouth, squeezing the hand in his own. "Be that as it may, it is true that none of my other clients are particularly invested in my pleasure for its own sake. Already I am wishing to see you again… to be yours every night." And sure, he says the last to every client, but it has never rung so true before.

Phoenix laughs, self-deprecating. "You know I can't afford your rates, Miles. I'm a college student. I'll be in debt for the rest of my life as it is."

He strokes surprisingly soft hair, twining their legs. "You don't have to book the whole night." He shifts, so he's atop Phoenix again, and is rewarded with a sharp hitch of breath when he presses his groin into the other's. "The hourly rate is cheapest on weekday mornings." Against his better judgement, he adds, "And I'd throw in extras, only for you."

"Ah, Miles…" Phoenix sounds breathless as Miles kisses and mouths at his neck — he must have tried things that he himself finds enjoyable, Miles reasons. "I think, if you ever wanted a career change, you'd make it big in sales."

"See?" Miles pins both of Phoenix's hands down on either side of his head, keeping their fingers intertwined, as he nuzzles the sparse covering of black hair on the other's chest — the man smells like citrus-y soap, no doubt the hotel's shower gel. "Most of my clients would have said modelling, either nude, underwear or swimwear." He licks a nipple teasingly, but it doesn't have quite the desired effect, so he grinds his hips into Phoenix's again.

"Ahh, y—yes… That would work too. You're… so beautiful." It's nothing Miles hasn't heard hundreds of times, but Phoenix says it with this… awestruck sincerity. Like he can't believe he could ever have someone like Miles at his side.

Miles nips his way back up the other's neck to murmur, "You're quite attractive yourself, you know. In another life, you wouldn't have to pay me." And he knows perfectly well he shouldn't have said that, but it's not like he expects Phoenix to afford another booking anytime soon, let alone bargain. It has its desired effect, too —Phoenix's hips buck up into his own— and "I want you inside me," he whispers, looking up into guileless blue eyes. "Please."

The other's mouth falls open, and he looks, at once, incredibly turned on and nervous enough to sweat bullets. "I—I'm—" Phoenix's gaze drops to the bed. "This is only my second time with a man. I— I don't know—"

"Tsk tsk." Miles takes the risk, waves a finger in his face. "Aren't you lucky one of us is an expert?" He gives Phoenix his sultriest gaze. "Will you watch and learn?"

Blue eyes widen. "I— Y—yes."

He lets go of one hand to reach under the other pillow for a condom and the bottle of lubricant. "Think you can manage to put one of these on?" (Please don't say no.)

"H—hold it!" Phoenix snatches the condom packet out of his hands. "Don't make it sound like I'm completely clueless!"

Miles smirks, pecking him on the lips. "You told me not to fake it, did you not?"

Phoenix breaks into a real smile. "So… your clients don't like it when you're condescending, I take it?"

"My clients," Miles coats his fingers in lubricant, "like it when I present the illusion they desire for the night. Some will request it outright when they make the appointment, and some I have to deduce." He turns, knees still straddling Phoenix's hips. "But I've never had a man that didn't like it when I did this." He bends forward to expose himself fully, then presses a slick finger in to stretch himself.

He doesn't bite back the moan that rises in his throat — everyone likes to feel desirable, so they're always pleased by how affected he is when they take him. In truth, it's easy to pretend they're anyone else —he'd enjoy this with a toy just the same— but it's nice not having to pretend, nice to be with someone who wants him instead of some crafted persona for a change, who doesn't feel like a client.

Phoenix seems frozen beneath him, so he adds a second finger, whining the other's name and letting himself tremble as he strokes his prostate. The hand gently caressing his hip takes him by surprise, but his cry of pleasure when a thumb traces his entrance is completely genuine. He whimpers when the touch withdraws, but then Phoenix is sitting up and pulling him close, a finger slides in alongside his own, and the stretch and pressure has him arching into the other with a gasp for the kiss he expects. He doesn't try for technique this time, just puts all the desire he feels into it, and Phoenix… Phoenix embraces him like he's something precious, kisses back with such tenderness, and Miles wonders what this would be like if they loved each other — a dangerous thought, he knows.

Going pliant in Phoenix's arms feels so natural, and Miles doesn't know what to make of the amazement in those blue eyes. But smearing lubricant on Phoenix's cock gets him a grunt of pleasure, so he only whispers, "I'm ready if you are."

Seeing the earlier uncertainty return, Miles tucks a lock of black hair behind the other's ear as he languidly shifts to face Phoenix on his knees. Leaning down for another kiss, he lowers his hips, guiding Phoenix inside, and smiles when they moan as one.

"Surely," he murmurs over the man's lips as he rubs circles into Phoenix's scalp, "even you can take it from here?"

"H—hey!"

But the pout of protest melts into a chuckle, and Phoenix flips them over to cradle him in his arms. Miles reflexively wraps his limbs around the other, Phoenix starts moving without preamble, and the pleasure has always been real, but face to face with Phoenix like this, it feels… strangely intimate. For the first time, when Miles' eyes flutter shut, it's not an act, and the sweet languor of the kiss they share is a sharp contrast to the urgent snap of their hips.

Miles gasps at the familiar tension coiling up — it's too soon. Maybe, he thinks, he should try to hold back, but then Phoenix lets out a desperate groan when Miles pulls him deeper, and that melts the last of his control — he doesn't think he can.

"Ahh! I— Miles, I'm—"

He screams.

Von Karma would tell him he should be ashamed, coming like a virgin at the sound of his name on some stranger's lips, and Phoenix isn't even a talented or experienced lover — objectively, at least. But boy is he glad that Phoenix wasn't his first — he'd have been ruined forever.

Phoenix shudders, arms tightening around him, and once he's blinked his vision back to clarity, he thinks to stroke Phoenix's hair and back through the aftershocks.

At least he thinks they're aftershocks until Phoenix starts sobbing.

"Phoenix? Phoenix, what's wrong?" (Wrong question,) he thinks as soon as he hears himself. (Too personal. It's,) "Did I do something wrong?"

But Phoenix only shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Miles. I'm sorry." He sits up, slipping out and pulling away with his head down to hide his face.

"What for?" Miles sits up as well.

"I— I just—" He wipes his eyes with his arm. "It feels like I used you."

As ridiculous as that sounds, it leaves a bitter aftertaste. "That's what they'd call it when you're not paying, I suppose."

Phoenix muffles an anguished cry with his hands, and it only makes Miles feel worse.

"But that's the worst part, isn't it? How does the money make it better?"

A chill creeps in, and Miles asks, "What's the difference? Everyone trades one thing for another. Feelings, sex, money, promises… it's a question of what you'll accept for what you expect to receive. Don't make it sound like—"

"No! No, I'm not saying it's wrong, or you shouldn't do it, or anything. I— I mean, for _me,_ personally… I—" He wipes his eyes again. "I thought— I _wanted_ this to be something special. Something shared only by people who really love each other. Even with Dollie, I waited… till it felt like we were both truly ready, but…"

Phoenix wrings his hands, then just grabs the other pillow to weep into it, and suddenly, it dawns on Miles in a flurry of horror, disbelief and guilt exactly what's going on. Phoenix Wright has obviously just broken up with his girlfriend, this Dollie. That's why Larry Butz decided to hire Miles, thinking it would cheer his flatmate up and help Phoenix move on. Larry Butz is clearly an idiot.

"I don't know. Maybe it's silly. Is it different when you love someone? Do you have anyone like that?"

"Hmph. I expect, if I had anyone like that, they wouldn't appreciate my choice of career. And I'm sorry, too. I… manipulated you into this," he admits softly. "We could have just talked if that's what you wanted, but I…"

"You were doing your job." Phoenix shakes his head, voice thick and wet with tears. "It's all right."

"No, it's not," Miles counters firmly. "It was selfish and thoughtless of me, not to mention entirely counterproductive. What I have done would hardly make a repeat customer out of you."

That gets some cross between a chuckle and a sob out of Phoenix. "As if I could afford to hire you myself, Miles. I told you, I'm pretty broke."

"You'd be amazed how many people who 'couldn't afford it' ended up becoming regulars. It just takes an adjustment of priorities. Saving, borrowing, repurposing… they figure it out."

Phoenix turns to face him, blue eyes still damp. "Well, you're worth saving up for."

"No." He wipes the tear streaks off Phoenix's cheeks with the pad of his thumb. "I'm not. Focus on graduating, Phoenix."

"I thought you wanted me to become a regular." Phoenix smiles, wry and shaky.

"I do, but I can wait a few years for you to get a steady stream of income."

Another gurgled chuckle. "Kinda like getting married, isn't it?" Phoenix's face falls again, and he buries the fresh flow of silent tears in the pillow.

(Were they that far along? Did things snap under marriage pressure?) "What happened?" (What kind of—)

"She…" Phoenix sniffles. "…tried to kill me."

(Right. A psychopath. Of course.)

But that's neither here nor there, so Miles slips out to the bathroom to clean up and bring a clean washcloth he'd run under warm water back to the bed. Phoenix obligingly sits up at Miles' nudging and lets Miles wipe, first his face, then his torso, and remove the used condom to tie it up. Miles wipes after it too, and Phoenix colors faintly at that, but only silently moves for Miles to pull the soiled bedspread off. Returning to the bathroom to discard the condom and leave the washcloth by the sink, Miles steps out to find that Phoenix has crawled under the covers.

Hesitating, Miles goes to get a glass of water, then remembers that Phoenix hasn't sent him away and brings a glass for Phoenix too. The other sits up to accept it and drains it in one gulp before flopping back down gracelessly, and Miles sets the glass down on the nightstand before sliding in beside him.

"Thank you," Phoenix mumbles, shifting closer.

"What for?" Miles asks again.

"For…" Phoenix makes some vague gesture with his hand.

"Very articulate, Phoenix."

In spite of the mood, the other snorts. "For being sweet? Making me laugh?"

"I'm doing my job," he corrects. "If it's just the sex, there are hundreds of others people could get it from."

To his surprise, Phoenix shakes his head. "You were doing your job before being a condescending jerk. This… That last time you kissed me… I was amazed. You really dropped the act, and you still wanted me."

(Heh… Impressive.) Phoenix is surprisingly perceptive.

"That, or you're an even better actor than Dollie." Phoenix shrugs. "What do I know? I truly believed she really loved me." He chokes up on the last bit. "Right up until she tried to frame me for murder on the witness stand."

The sharp flare of anger seizes Miles by surprise, and he hadn't known before this that it was possible to hate a person he knew so little about so intensely. This Dollie didn't just break Phoenix's heart — she'd planted a seed of doubt that would make him question every future partner and left a scar that would harden him to every chance at happiness to come.

"It wasn't an act." He pulls Phoenix into a tight embrace. "I wanted you just as you wanted the real me. This is real. And she doesn't deserve to ruin all your future relationships," he adds fiercely, pressing his lips to the other man's temple.

"How do you know," Phoenix sobs into his neck, "that it wasn't me? That it wasn't something I did wrong?"

"Phoenix, you cared about me ten minutes after we met, and if tonight is how you are with a stranger, then I can only imagine," (and envy,) "how you must have been with her." He pets spiky black hair, rubs the other's back soothingly. "No, I don't believe, for even a moment, that the problem lay with you."

Instead of stopping, though, Phoenix only starts bawling in earnest all over again. "Isn't it pathetic," he lets out a broken laugh, "that this is the most I've ever connected with someone, so much so I'm actually thinking of saving up to see you again?"

"No," Miles murmurs, massaging his scalp. "But you're a fool to desire what can never truly belong to you. Still…" His voice drops to a whisper. "In this, we can be fools together."

But Phoenix has already cried himself to sleep, so Miles only pulls the covers more snugly around them, switches off the lights, wraps his arms around Phoenix and closes his eyes.

* * *

Phoenix checks the address on the business card in his hand again, then looks up once more at the premises in front of him. The sign, both outside above the glass doors and behind the marble and brushed steel reception counter inside, reads "YPN Agency" in big gold letters illuminated in white light from behind. The foyer, with its marble floors, white walls, simple circular ceiling lights and small waiting area lined with black leather seats, looks more like the entrance to some corporate head office than an escort agency… which, he reasons, is probably the objective.

There's a fierce-looking senior gentleman in an elaborate dark blue suit looking through a folder beside the receptionist, a bespectacled brunette in a simple white button-down and black pencil skirt. From the way she's fidgeting in her office chair and glancing surreptitiously back at him, he's probably in charge here. When Phoenix walks in, she looks relieved, but the nervous tension in the air doesn't help his own nerves any.

"Gooood afternoon, sir!" She greets cheerfully, jumping to her feet. "Welcome to YPN Agency! How may I h—be of assistance to you today?"

"Uh… G—good afternoon…" He catches the look of disdain in the older man's eyes, and even though Phoenix has changed into his newest pair of jeans, least worn sneakers and best button-down, this is clearly bespoke suit and designer shoes territory. He decides to focus on the friendlier receptionist. "I— I'm looking for Miles Edgeworth…?"

"Do you have an appointment?" The man cuts in sharply before she can reply — no such chance.

"Well, no, but—"

"Then I'm afraid I can't allow—"

"N—not today, I mean!" Phoenix interjects hurriedly. "I—it's just… H—he left something behind when he left this morning, and um… I wanted to r—request something… for our next engagement!"

"Oh." The sudden change in demeanor leaves Phoenix a bit shell-shocked. "A returning customer." There's still an underlying edge of skepticism, but the disdain has been carefully filed away like the folder the man sets down. "Well, why didn't you say so?"

(Because I only had every opportunity to get a word in edgewise?!)

"In that case…"

With a polite smile that seems somehow more frightening than his earlier serious face, he indicates that Phoenix should follow him as he steps around the wall behind the counter, and Phoenix hears the receptionist sigh in relief as he passes. Hidden from view behind that corporate foyer is a carpeted corridor that could easily have come out of a luxury hotel. Complete with numbered wooden doors on either side, it ends in a grand staircase lit by a chandelier.

"What did you say your name was again?"

"I didn't… It's Phoenix Wright."

"I see. Well then, Mr. Wright," the man opens door number three and indicates that he should enter, "please have a seat in here while I summon him."

The man doesn't wait for his "thank you" before shutting the door on this small cross between a lounge and a meeting room. A fancy ceiling lamp casts a warm glow over the burgundy upholstered walls and deep carpet, and the plush brown leather L-shaped sofa he sinks into fills up most of the space. There's a small contraption on the expensive-looking wooden coffee table that seems to be a conjoined microphone and speaker — he assumes it's some kind of internal communications system.

Just then, the door opens again, and Miles enters in a similarly elaborate suit, only in wine red instead of dark blue.

(I'm guessing that's the dress code around here… pompous ruffles.)

"You have five minutes," comes the older man's stern voice from outside, and Miles' cordial "Yes, sir" as he closes the door betrays nothing, although grey eyes light up when he sees Phoenix. He steps closer, and Phoenix stands to throw his arms around Miles in a tight hug, but is guided into a tender kiss instead, and (I can't believe— This… This can't be a lie… can it…?)

"That was fast," Miles murmurs when they part.

Phoenix takes a half step back to fumble in his pocket. "You dropped this." He holds out the Signal Blue keychain he found on the bed beside him this morning. "It's a limited edition bonus item they gave out with the first print of the complete DVD box set, so I figured it was... kinda important."

Miles averts his eyes as he takes it, grips his left elbow as he sits down. "No, I left it on purpose… knowing you would come to return it even if you didn't know what it was."

Cracking a grin, Phoenix sits as well. "Heh, you're pretty good at reading people."

Relieved, Miles relaxes and smirks. "It comes with the territory. Still, I'm pleased to hear that anyone recognizes Signal Samurai anymore."

"Are you kidding?" Phoenix scoffs. "That was my childhood. Look, I have one too." He pulls out another keychain, identical but crimson instead of cobalt — Signal Red. "And you know, I almost kept it. You see, I saved up for months to buy that box set, hoping I'd get Signal Blue. I was pretty crushed when I opened the box and saw Red instead. But I didn't know anyone who got one they didn't want, and I couldn't afford to buy another set, so…" He shrugs, sheepish.

Miles can hardly believe his ears. "Why don't we swap then?"

"What?" Phoenix gasps. "R—really?"

"Yes." He chuckles, leaning closer. "It's funny. Signal Red is my favorite, and I was rather disappointed when I opened the box to find that it was Blue."

Phoenix snorts. "I guess Larry's the only one who got the one he wanted, the lucky bastard." They exchange keychains, but don't let go. "It's… kinda romantic, isn't it?" He searches grey eyes hopefully, running his thumb over Miles' knuckles, and the affection he finds there is —he hopes— unmistakably genuine. "So… I was hoping we could… you know, start properly, and uh… get coffee sometime," he forges ahead. "Or tea. You said you were good with tea."

Miles laughs. "That's not— No matter. I suppose the naïvete is part of your charm. And I'd love to," but he looks down guiltily, laughter dying as he bites his lip. "Really. I would. But…" He looks back up, catches blue eyes and glances pointedly up in the direction of von Karma's office. "You know I can't." He squeezes Phoenix's hand, silently begging him to understand.

"Oh."

And he can't take that crestfallen look on Phoenix's face, but he can only open his mouth to apologize. "Ph—"

"How much?"

Miles stops, blinks.

Swallowing thickly, Phoenix clarifies, "Those weekday morning slots you were telling me about. How much?"

And Miles feels his facial muscles protest as he breaks into a happy smile.


	9. The Internet Is Really, Really Great

**Prompt:** The current anime gave me so many feels. Especially how adorable and so fresh looking Phoenix is. Haven't been able to post a request for two years, if I may suggest the following prompt.

Kinks: Seme Miles, uke Phoenix who is a virgin, nipple play, orgasm denial, forced orgasm, a very sensitive and moaning Phoenix being helplessly played on their wedding night by Miles.

Please anon writers, I hope someone would write this prompt, after hearing Miles deep anime voice, I can imagine how he would torment his Feenie and completely deny him to orgasm, despite Feenie's begging.

Nothing heavy stuff - just a devious and naughty Miles marking Phoenix as his on their honeymoon. Please anon make this prompt come true.

Prequel to **More Than Words** (Chapter 7)

* * *

 **The Internet Is Really, Really Great**

As they check into the hotel together, Phoenix can't decide which he's having more trouble believing — that he and Miles are finally married or that they waited this long. After pining for this man for the better part of his life, it feels a bit surreal to see the white gold wedding band on his finger, to be entering the honeymoon suite of this luxurious hot spring resort, to have "move into Miles' house" on his post-vacation to-do list.

Surreal but amazing.

Miles is never going to tell him the cost of this trip, but Phoenix can guess he wouldn't be able to afford it in this lifetime. The tastefully furnished room opens into an open air patio where steam rises from their private hot spring. There's champagne waiting for them in an ice bucket by the inviting king-sized bed, chocolates on the plush pillows and fluffy robes and slippers waiting for them at the foot of the bed. It's only early afternoon, so he supposes most tourists would go out for a bit of sightseeing before dinner, but they have the rest of the week for that.

Tonight is for them, just them, and maybe they'll finally…

"Phoenix?"

"Hm? Oh!"

He moves out of the way, setting his suitcase down on the provided space, and Miles sets his own down beside it, looking unfairly sexy in his tailor-made dress shirt and trousers. Miles without his suit and ruffles is a rare sight, and the thought that Phoenix will finally see him without _any_ clothes… Miles turns, catches him staring and raises an eyebrow in question.

"Y—you're gorgeous," Phoenix blurts by way of explanation. "Without your stuffy suit and cravat, I mean."

"Funny how you fell for the stuffiness then," but there's only warm amusement in his eyes as Miles brushes the pad of his thumb over Phoenix's cheekbone and tilts his chin up.

"Well, if we're getting into specifics, then technically, I fell for you in shorts and a bow tie back in fourth grade, so…"

Grey eyes widen, then Miles gives him a look of mixed exasperation, trepidation and chagrin. "We are way past the age for shorts and bow ties, Phoenix. Tell me you didn't bring any of those with you on this trip."

"Only for sleeping!" (My fashion sense isn't that bad! You're just always perfectly done up!)

"Tsk tsk tsk, Phoenix… Phoenix." Miles waves a finger in his face with a smirk, much like he does in court. "Did you really expect to wear clothes to bed this week? Surely you didn't think I'd let you off that easy after waiting all these years."

(Oh.) Phoenix bites his lip, feeling a bit bashful, but loops his arms adoringly around Miles' neck. "How long again?" He leans up for a chaste kiss.

"Hmm… I must say you had me when you came to my desk crying during that class trial you remember so fondly." Another peck on the lips. "Will you cry for me again tonight?"

His cheeks blaze. "I— I should have known you'd be mean."

"Hmph. Let's clean up before dinner."

His blush deepens as Miles begins to undress —after all the years of fantasizing about what lay hidden beneath those layers, he's finally going to see— and asks, "M—may I?"

Still smirking, Miles stops at the second button of his shirt and reaches for Phoenix's blue sweater instead. As he tugs it up, his knuckles brush over Phoenix's nipples through his white undershirt and a strange tingle takes Phoenix by surprise. Still, he lifts his arms to let Miles remove it before continuing to unbutton his spouse's top. The sudden cool air on his skin makes him self-conscious, and the realization that his nipples are visibly pert through thin cotton makes him feel exposed. This will be the first time Miles sees him naked too, and Phoenix focuses on the buttons to keep from worrying whether Miles likes what he sees — he knows he doesn't have Miles' broad shoulders and perfectly rounded ass, but he's never felt so shy before.

Miles only obligingly shrugs the shirt off and slides his hands down Phoenix's back to ease the hem of the undershirt out from under the waistband of his jeans as Phoenix unbuckles Miles' fine leather belt.

"Someone's in a hurry," Miles teases, and Phoenix moves to the other's silk undershirt instead.

"I just wanted to make this easier," he protests defensively, but Miles only arches his eyebrows and slides his hands over bare skin to push Phoenix's undershirt up. Phoenix's brain has barely caught up to the reality of Miles' hands on his skin when warm thumbs run over his nipples, and this time, the breath hitches in his throat.

"Oh, here?"

Miles' thumbs return to flick them, and the jolt goes straight down. Before Phoenix can protest, they're chafing the tips, and he bites back a whimper as his cock stirs. The other's smirk has turned predatory, and he's never seen this heat in those familiar grey eyes — at least he knows Miles doesn't mind the view. He tugs at silk, and Miles lifts his arms, so they can remove the garment for each other, but then Miles immediately resumes playing with his newfound targets, and Phoenix tries to pull away, but with the heat pooling in his groin, his legs seem to have forgotten how to move.

"Ngh…"

Fingertips trace his areolae, pushing the sensitive nubs around in circles, a bit of nail scraping the sides, and his breath quickens. Then they're held lightly between two fingers, and his hips jerk as the tips are skimmed again. He's never touched himself there before, but his cock throbs with every featherlight swipe over the tips, and his jeans are getting tighter. Miles does a light pinch, twist and pull sequence then, and strong arms quickly catch him as his knees buckle, his hands flying to the other's sides. The toned torso under his palms and creamy skin dusted lightly with silver are more beautiful than he imagined, and he longs to run his hands all over his beloved's body.

"Weren't you the one bemoaning the long, exhausting journey to get here?" It was his first time on a long haul flight, there was no way to get comfortable, and his only consolation was being able to snuggle into Miles' side the entire way.

"F—funny. I remember it as you complaining about the number of hours left to go every time the flight hit a spot of turbulence." As soon as the plane started shaking, though, it was Miles hyperventilating in his arms instead. "I'm glad though," he adds hurriedly, leaning into the other, to preempt any prideful protests. "It means you don't think I'm going to laugh at you anymore."

Miles kisses him, and his eyes flutter shut, just like at their wedding the other day — he's waited so long to do this. Their lips brushing, he nips at Miles' bottom lip before opening up to let Miles entwine their tongues. Then Miles is rolling a nipple between his fingers, and Phoenix can only moan into the kiss as his insides clench with desire.

"I wonder… Will you be able to wait until after dinner?"

* * *

As Miles very slowly eats his share of their full course gourmet dinner, Phoenix thinks he might go mad. Miles has been teasing him all evening — in the shower, in the hot spring, while drying off… playing with his nipples, whispering suggestive promises in his ear, or just otherwise being infuriatingly sexy. Phoenix has been touching Miles, too, of course —the other's neck is pretty sensitive— but it also fuels his own arousal, so that hasn't helped. He's grateful for small mercies — dinner is served in their room, so he doesn't have to figure out how to hide being half hard in a public restaurant. Now that he's finished all his food and relaxed in the hot spring, though, he doesn't have hunger or tiredness to distract him from how damnably horny he is anymore, and the bed is _right there,_ but no, Miles is just taking his own sweet time with his dinner.

He wonders if he can tempt Miles or at least take the edge off for himself.

Looking around, he catches sight of the still unopened bottle of champagne. They refreshed the ice bucket when they brought dinner, so it should be nice and cold. It reminds him of a video he once saw online… maybe it will get Miles' attention?

The fuzzy fabric of the robe shifts as he stands, and he winces — his nipples are still erect and sensitized. He unties the sash as he fetches two champagne flutes, then sets them down on the nightstand, grabs the bottle and sits on the bed facing Miles. Gripping the bottle between his thighs to free both hands, he hisses as the cold glass brushes against his cock, and that gets Miles' attention all right. Still, he pretends not to notice and twists the cork out.

"Aahh!"

He snatches up the small towel hanging off the ice bucket as some champagne bubbles out onto his lap. It's cold and wet and, hopefully, not gross now that he's wiped it off, but Miles is just giving him that Look —fond and condescending all at once, a look reserved for him even in court— so that's all right. With a sheepish grin, he manages to pour them each a glass without spilling any more and bring it over to where Miles is still sitting by the table.

"To us?"

Miles takes a champagne flute and clinks it against Phoenix's. "To us," he agrees with a rare unguarded smile.

Phoenix leans contentedly into his beloved as they sip the refreshing beverage, wondering when it'll sink in, when he'll get used to having Miles as his spouse finally being reality instead of mere fantasy. Then Miles is stroking his cock, and his instant reaction is visceral and embarrassing — he almost drops his glass as he thrusts into Miles' hand.

"You like it cold here?"

"Ah, no…!" No one's ever touched him there before, and he's so hard it hurts all over again. "Miles…"

"Excited, aren't we?"

"Give me a break, Miles. It's my first time."

Miles stops. "Ever?"

(Is that disbelief a compliment? Or should I be ashamed that everyone else got laid first?) "Y—yes…?"

"Weren't you and Iris—?"

"We never got that far. She just… never seemed ready. And now I know why."

"And before? After?"

Well, Phoenix is definitely flattered now — Miles isn't even considering the possibility that, maybe, the reason he fell so hard for Dahlia was because she was the only girl to have ever shown any interest in him.

"Well…" There had been a few back in high school that he'd thought to ask out, but "it seemed disingenuous to be with someone else when I only wanted you." And not too long after Dahlia, Miles was back in his life and making him wonder how he ever even looked at anyone else.

He glances up to meet heated grey eyes and gasps as an arm snakes around his waist to draw him close. "So you've been saving yourself for me?" The kiss he's pulled into is fierce, searing, possessive, and he hisses into it as cold glass is pressed to his chest. "I… wish I could claim the same level of restraint." Miles twirls the flute, condensation easing the way as it rubs against the sensitive nub, and Phoenix sets his own drink down before he drops it.

"At least that means we're not both clueless…?" he replies breathlessly with a grin. He's not that disappointed, he tells himself — it's not like he expected Miles to stay celibate or anything when they were never even together. But since Miles never initiated sex before this, even after they decided they were going to commit, he'd assumed Miles was waiting for marriage… and the hopeless romantic in him would have liked that to be true.

Smiling wistfully, Miles' hand on the small of his back slides up to cup his cheek and run a thumb gently over his bottom lip. "No, I… always missed you," he admits, holding them cheek to cheek and closing his eyes, a quiet desperation in his voice as he murmurs into his lover's ear, "enough to attempt actualizing my fantasies. Youthful, sentimental folly," Miles turns to press his lips emphatically into Phoenix's skin, "but at the time, I believed I'd never see you again." He drains the champagne flute and sets it down to free his hand. Sliding it up Phoenix's thigh, "Allow me to make it up to you," he whispers, fingertips glancing teasingly over that untouched entrance as he palms the other's ass, and Phoenix cries out — he'd always thought "weak with desire" was just a metaphor, but when Miles half-carries him to the bed, he can barely even think from the hot _want_ suffusing his body.

He fumbles with the sash on Miles' robe as his mouth is plundered, pushing it off broad shoulders and moaning as skin presses on skin. Miles' mouth trails hot and wet down his neck and chest, hands sliding down his arms to pin his wrists to the bed, and he arches up into the contact, shuddering in anticipation as it inches ever lower.

Then, just as he's about to reach, Miles drops a kiss on his hip instead.

Phoenix groans, frustrated. (M—more teasing?!) "How is this making it up to me?!"

Miles smirks, pulling Phoenix along as he sits up. "Tsk tsk, which adage about virgins do you want to prove, Phoenix? No patience, no stamina or both?"

"D—don't talk to me about patience. How many years— ah!"

Miles has bound his hands behind his back with the sash of his robe. "—have we both waited?" There is such tenderness in their kiss this time. "And to be completely fair, seeing as these," Phoenix yelps as Miles taps his right hand and cock with two fingers, "are the only parts to have seen any action, we are going to leave them out tonight."

"Wh—whaaat?!" He doesn't hide his dismay.

"Oh? Do you doubt that I am perfectly capable of making you come untouched?" Miles asks, rubbing and twisting both nipples at once.

"Mng-ahh!" His arms being bound behind his back thrusts his chest out and inexplicably heightens their sensitivity. "N—no, hngh, M—Miles!" he whines when the other stops just as he's getting close.

"I'll have you know," Miles continues in that tone he uses in court to explain self-evident facts, "that it's much better when you wait. I promise, in the end, it will be better than any fantasy or quick release, and you'll want me to keep you waiting next time too."

Experience, Phoenix reflects, is recognising an argument he can't win, so he only dips his head and peppers Miles' neck with kisses. The other embraces him as his lips trail down, and he flicks his tongue at a dusky nub before sucking a mark right over Miles' heart. Miles isn't as sensitive here, but he moans when a tongue traces his collarbone, licks the salt up over his jugular and dips into the shell of his ear. Phoenix nips at an earlobe, presses his lips into the pulse point behind Miles' ear and inhales deeply of fine shampoo and clean musk.

As he shifts onto his knees, Miles kisses him again, and he only has a brief warning clink of ice cubes before the champagne bottle is wedged between his legs. "Sh—ahh!" He flinches away, but Miles presses it in, and the cold is almost painful on such a sensitive area.

"We shouldn't waste the champagne," Miles says with a peck to his brow, then leaves to… get the flutes they left at the table, and Phoenix has to grip the bottle with his thighs to keep it from spilling. Miles also stops by his suitcase, though, and by the time he's found whatever he was searching for, Phoenix is growing numb.

He whimpers when Miles sits down and takes the bottle away to pour them another glass, blinking tears out of his eyes and panting as he falls pliant into the other's arms.

"Phoenix." Blue eyes snap to grey as gentle fingertips wipe tear streaks away. "Am I really hurting you? Do you—" Miles bites his quivering bottom lip. "Do you want to stop? We don't have to do it like… like this, if you don't want to."

As he sips the offered champagne, Phoenix considers it —it's strangely good, this extended pleasure-pain, this push-pull from the edge— and shakes his head. "I trust you."

Voice thick and eyes damp with sudden emotion, Miles insists, "Do you promise you'll tell me?"

"Yes. I promise."

And it's as if all the tension in Miles' body drains away as he clasps Phoenix to him for a dizzying kiss. Then Miles finishes off the glass and pours lubricant —that must be what he fetched from his suitcase— onto his fingers.

The breath hitches in Phoenix's throat. He's never even touched himself there before —he's always been too shy despite seeing it in videos— but it makes the blood rush to his cock anew, makes him drip with want as warm, tingly lube trickles past and those slick fingers circle, part, press, rub — all short of actually pushing in. "Hah-hngh…" He spreads his legs wider to sink down, but the touch retreats, then he's crying out as the cold bottle returns, and he can't decide whether it's in pleasure or pain. "M—Miles," he hisses as another feint has him rutting into freezing, wet glass that he feels down to his core. "Please!"

"Don't spill it, and I'll reward you."

Miles pops an ice cube into his mouth, then bends to close his lips around a nipple, and Phoenix shivers, gasping, eyes stinging from the sensory overload — the heat of Miles' mouth, the chill of the ice cube, the friction of his tongue and the suction; the hot tingle behind, the cold throb in front and the pressure just under. A finger finally, _finally_ breaches him, and his hips buck between the sharp pleasure and the numbing pain. Miles moves to the other nub as the finger slides slowly in and out, and Phoenix trembles as the pressure mounts in his painfully cold balls and more precum leaks from his aching cock.

"Do you like chocolate?" Miles asks conversationally, sounding too damned cool and collected for all this as he takes one piece from the pillow and opens it. "Hm?" He scrapes the corner of the chocolate square on a nipple, and the prickling sensation makes Phoenix's cock twitch against cold glass.

"Yea—hnngh!" Miles sucks the sweet speck off, hard, and Phoenix ruts helplessly into the bottle. "Miles, please!"

The other takes the chocolate between his lips, and Phoenix eagerly bites off half as they kiss — it's good dark chocolate, too, not the cheap waxy kind used in some candy bars. He sighs as Miles takes the bottle away, but then another digit pushes in alongside the first. At his sound of pain, Miles' fingers still.

"Phoenix?"

The sweet concern in his voice always melts Phoenix inside, even back when he'd asked if Phoenix was okay after that class trial so long ago now. Phoenix had hugged Miles and thanked him, and when Miles gingerly returned the hug a bit later, it felt like belonging.

It feels like belonging now, as a warm hand rubs his back soothingly while he breathes through the pain. He can hear Miles' heart pounding, feel the rising anxiety in his lover's body, and he's about to reassure Miles, but the other beats him to words.

"My apologies, Phoenix. I shouldn't do this on our first night together. Without even discussing—"

"Miles, I'm fine," he interrupts firmly, planting another kiss on his spouse's mouth. "And I never knew sex could feel this good for this long, but… I—I need…" Now that the pain has faded, Miles is pressing into… a place that's begging for more, and he bites his lip to keep from doing just that. "It _aches._ So don't— don't stop? Don't— We can discuss whatever you want tomorrow. Just please, Miles, please…" So much for not begging. "Let me—!"

With a sigh of relief, the smile returns to Miles' face. "Then relax," he murmurs, watching closely as he carefully scissors his fingers inside.

Closing his eyes, Phoenix struggles to force muscles he's rarely used consciously to obey. It does hurt less, and then he's moaning Miles' name like a prayer as that place inside is stroked, and nothing he's read or watched could have prepared him for the reality of this. Pleasure flows like lava through his veins, and he can't control the snap of his hips — he's _almost—_

"Hng-ngh!"

His heavy, aching balls are grabbed, and the edge of pain as hypersensitive flesh is fondled roughly breaks the high. The keen that escapes him as slick fingers withdraw sounds pitiful, and even the precum flowing down to Miles' hand now feels embarrassingly arousing on his neglected cock.

"M—Miles," he whimpers as the hand on his balls tightens. "Y—you said—"

"Without me?" Miles asks, breathless, as he spreads lubricant on himself, and his cock is so beautiful, full and glistening in his hand as he thrusts up into it. "Are you certain?"

Hurriedly, Phoenix shakes his head, licking dry lips, eyes transfixed by the languid strokes of slender fingers that had just been "I—inside me. Plea— ah!"

In a quick move, he's flipped face down with his ass in the air. "Here?" Miles sucks a mark into the flesh just beside his opening, and Phoenix can only writhe wantonly, grunting as the comforter chafes his sore nipples.

"Ah, yes!"

"After all these years, finally, mine." Another mark, on the other side, and the warmth that rushes through him isn't purely physical.

"Always," he breathes, "I've always been yours."

Searing hands run up the back of his thighs from his knees, leaving electric sensation arcing over his skin in their wake. "And look how hungry you are for it."

"O—objection! I've never even— Y—you made me— ah-ah- _ahhn_!" (I—is that…?)

Miles is circling his tongue inside, and those insides are coiling up for—

 _He stops._

He just fucking stops, and if Phoenix could talk, he'd be screaming curses, but the only sound that escapes is a pathetic sob.

Then he's rolled onto his back, and his anger dies. The open _love_ in grey eyes floors him, ties his tongue as he finds his hands freed, and Miles has never looked at him like this before. Not even when they were exchanging rings the other day.

"Did you truly think," Miles asks gently, crawling between his legs with unbelievable grace, "that I would be so cold as to take you from behind on our wedding night?" and it sends a shiver down his spine.

His lover lifts his legs to hook them over his shoulders, and (This is it,) he thinks. (He's finally going to…) He reaches out to bury his hands in silver-grey hair as Miles gets into position, and his spouse turns to pepper his wrists with tender kisses.

"I told you I'd reward you."

"By untying me?"

Miles covers Phoenix's hands with his own, pressing in slowly, and he remembers to relax, but it still hurts — Miles is so big.

"I've never performed anilingus before, but after that response, it is now how I plan on waking you up."

Phoenix flushes, and he didn't think that was still possible. "I—if you're eating me for breakfast, what will I…? Ngk."

Miles' knowing smirk breaks into concern. "Relax, Phoenix. Do you need me to slow down?"

"J—just give me a minute," he manages between harsh breaths, and even as he tries to get used to the extra stretch, he takes a moment to admire Miles' self-control — Phoenix doubts he'd be able to hold still if their positions were reversed. Heck, he'd probably have come by now. The thought of Miles coming inside him seems to do it, though, and he nods as the pain recedes. "Okay."

It returns full force when Miles starts moving again, however, and Phoenix's hands drop to grip Miles' shoulders as he struggles not to tense up. Then gentle fingers are caressing his areolae, and when they sweep, featherlight, over sore nubs, his cock still throbs as if from direct contact, and just as he thinks he can't take anymore, Miles bottoms out with a shuddering breath and immediately leans down to kiss him.

"You're amazing, Phoenix," he whispers, cradling him close like something precious. "So much better than I imagined, so good for me. This week, I'm going to make you forget there ever was a time when you had to touch yourself because I wasn't there."

Well, if Miles is always so effusive during sex, Phoenix will happily do whatever his spouse wants in bed. "I can't wait," he replies with a smile, reaching for another chocolate square and unwrapping it. The pain has faded now, and the pressure and fullness is almost too much to bear. "And I've always loved you, Miles. Please, don't tease anymore."

He places the chocolate between his lips, and Miles takes the other half as they kiss, limbs winding tightly around each other. It's sweet and creamy as their tongues twine, with nuts this time, but then Miles rolls his hips, and everything else becomes secondary. They moan as one, then Miles is twining their fingers as he pulls out to thrust in again, and Phoenix's back arches as he cries out, eyes all but rolling back in his head.

It's so _good_ , everything he's needed for so long now, and "Haahh… I— I'm almost—!"

"Yes, look at me, Phoenix." As if he could look away. "Let me see you." Miles sucks on his bottom lip as the thrusts speed up, looking and sounding utterly wrecked, and he's lost. "Come for me, Phoenix. Come for me right now."

Phoenix screams.

Pleasure erupts, and he's falling helplessly into the raw _need_ in hypnotic grey eyes. Miles' hips stutter, wet heat searing into his soul, and the deep voice chanting his name is like the litany of the angels in heaven. Heaven, heaven with Miles, and he lets himself fall.

* * *

When he blinks to clear his vision, Phoenix is half-draped over Miles under the covers with a comforting arm around him and feeling surprisingly clean. His spouse looks lost in thought, eyes unfocused despite the book in his hand.

"How long was I out?" he asks, sitting up blearily.

"Approximately an hour." Miles shuts the Steel Samurai manga he's reading, and that's the surest sign they're on vacation — every other time they've travelled, Miles has read law books. "There's still champagne left if I haven't ruined it for you," and his beloved's voice sounds rueful, tinged with hope.

"Water seems wiser right now," he replies, crawling out of bed for it. "Would you like some?"

"Please."

Phoenix downs a glass of water at the mini bar before bringing a full glass back for Miles. His Miles who is never going to lose that nervous tic of gripping his elbow. He sits on the edge of the bed and pries Miles' hand away to wrap it around the glass of water, then leans in for a kiss, watching as Miles' eyes flutter shut.

"If it didn't taste so overrated and overpriced," he murmurs when they part, "you might have made champagne my new favorite drink." He waits for grey eyes to widen, then soften before turning away to fill the two flutes on the nightstand. "But that's why we shouldn't waste it."

"Indeed," Miles agrees, clinking them, and sipping some. It's not as cold as it was anymore, but there's still a bit of carbonation left.

"What's on your mind?" Phoenix asks, watching him closely.

"Gnk… I was worried. No one's ever blacked out on me before."

"Objection!" He taps Miles on the nose and grins at the other's frown before pouring the last of the champagne. "I've seen you worry. That's not it. And you don't _have_ to tell me, but…" He laces their fingers, so their wedding bands are side by side. "This means you don't have to do or bear anything alone either, if you want."

Miles smiles wryly and sighs. "I was… reflecting. Every time my living situation has changed, my life seemed to spiral very quickly out of control shortly before or after." He squeezes Phoenix's hand. "It makes me wonder what will happen next."

Chuckling, Phoenix squeezes back and drains his flute. "It'll probably be my fault, too. My life seems generally beyond my control anyway. I can't even choose my own cases half the time or, heck, my own lunch." He returns the empty glass to the nightstand.

"O—oof, objection!" Miles sits up and sets his empty flute down as well. "I didn't mean to imply—"

"That's not what I meant either." They move as one into an embrace, and Phoenix smiles as he rests his head on Miles' shoulder. "We should have done this years ago." (Control, huh? I wonder, is there any way I can help?)

"Yes." Miles buries his face in surprisingly soft hair. "I realize now that it was foolish of me to worry that you might be… repulsed by my proclivities. Your inability to appreciate my interests has never prevented you from at least trying to understand them."

(H—he was worried? That's why he held back — he was afraid of scaring me away?) Suddenly, Phoenix sees Miles' earlier confession from a new perspective —(He experimented with people he wasn't afraid to lose)— and it feels rather romantic now. (Well, yeah… I guess not everyone is into this sort of thing, but…) It was good — he can still feel the bone-deep contentment, the feeling of being utterly sated, yet still looking forward to Miles' promise of more. "I enjoyed it," he says honestly, straightening to look Miles in the eyes. "If you want, we can keep going."

Miles looks abashed but happy. "W—we should discuss this in detail — mutual expectations, boundaries and so on. E—even if I'm going to be in control of this, I have no wish to overstep any limits with which you are comfortable."

Phoenix smiles helplessly — it's adorable how carefully and considerately Miles wants to go about this, and Phoenix wants to say something sappy, like "you've always been the boy I loved in fourth grade at heart," but that sounds maudlin and uncomplimentary. He's touched by the affection and concern, though, and he wishes he knew how to express it.

"Miles…" (Wait, did he say "control"?) Maybe this is it. Maybe this will help. "I trust you," he says again, pressing his lips to the white gold ring on Miles' finger, and he doesn't know much about this, but if the stuff he's seen on the Internet and tonight's preview are any indication, he's definitely up for trying some things. And if Miles being in control always feels this good, Phoenix is more than happy to let him have it. Holding Miles' gaze, he decides to try something he once watched that seems relevant — he sinks slowly to his knees. "And I'm really looking forward to that discussion… Master."

Well, given that Miles seems to have forgotten how to breathe and is visibly ready for round two, Phoenix will vote that the Internet is really, really great for some things.


End file.
